A Year at Briar Crest High
by Elladan and Elrohir
Summary: The not so epic saga of our favourite LOTR characters as they deal with lessons, love, and life at Briar Crest High. Featuring Lovestruck!Aragorn, Chivalrous!Merry, Tempermental!Eowyn, and Cuter than fluffy bunnies!Pippin CHAP 6 UP!
1. First Day

**A/N:**This is a collaborative effort of the Sisters Elladan and Elrohir. Elladan would like to ask that you please excuse the horrid Legolas and Gimli bashing, and that to those fans, we apologize profusely. Really, we do. And that was not supposed to sound sarcastic. Elrohir would like to point out that we love Starbucks and their steamed almond milk and cinnamon cocoa dearly. We really, really, really like reviews. ::hints::

**Disclaimer:**We, the Sisters Elladan and Elrohir, hereby admit to owning absolutely nothing, except Briar Crest High itself, and then just the building, not the people in it. Starbucks is not ours either. Dur.

And now, without further ado, we give you:

**A Year at Briar Crest High**

**Chapter 1: First Day**

**OR**

**In Which Pippin is Concerned about Frodo's Apparel**

A crisp September breeze played across Eowyn's face as she pedaled her bike lazily through Briar Crest, on her way to her new school. Her uncle, Théoden, had insisted that Briar Crest High would be a diverse place for her to "learn and develop new skills." Her uncle, however, was completely wrong. Eowyn had been perfectly happy at the all girls' school in Portland, playing forward on the school soccer team. However diverse and wonderful Briar Crest High supposedly was, it did not have a soccer team at all.

Eowyn stopped her bike in front of the school. It was a sprawling, u-shaped, one-story brick building. The courtyard in the middle of the campus was home to a few trees and single small wooden picnic table. A group of boys were madly dancing under the shade of a pine, watched interestedly by a few girls. On the steps was a beautiful dark-haired teenager--probably an upper classman--painting her nails. Around her was a motley assortment of students sprawled across the stairs, laughing, chatting, or frantically trying to finish the summer homework. Eowyn walked over to the dark-haired girl, who looked up.

She was a cookie-cutter Cosmo cover-girl, with long lashes surrounding intelligent gray eyes. Her hair fell in dark waves around her shoulders, framing her flawless porcelain face. She was wearing a white camisole, a blue button-up cardigan, and a green mini-skirt. Eowyn thought she looked liked she belonged at some college prep school, leading the varsity cheer squad, not sitting on the front steps of the poorest high school in the district. Eowyn's own cargo jeans seemed suddenly inadequate.

"Hey, can you show me where the office is?" Eowyn asked, "I still need my class schedule."

"Down the hall, and to the left," the girl replied, pointing one perfectly manicured fingernail toward the front door. "Are you new here?"

Eowyn was hard-pressed not to roll her eyes. _Cheerleaders, _she thought scornfully, _If I wasn't new, I wouldn't have asked where the office was. _However, instead of speaking her thoughts aloud, Eowyn merely said "Yeah, I'm new," and walked through the double doors.

-----------------------

Sam stood in the shade of the lone pine tree with Merry, Pippin and Frodo. Merry and Pippin had finally collapsed after their mad dancing routine, and were lying in the grass with two sodas apiece. Frodo was sitting with his back against the tree, reading a book that Merry had entitled—after skimming the first page—_Very Boring and Extremely Stupid_. Frodo had not deigned to participate in the First-Day-of-School-Reunion-Mad-Dancing-Party-Thing for the first time since 2nd grade when Pippin named it and Merry had announced it an official tradition.

Sam looked around at his new school. He had visited Frodo here once or twice, but this would be his, as well as Merry and Pippin's, first year actually attending. Though he would never admit it, he was really nervous. He looked back at Merry and Pippin. They had decided that Frodo was definitely not himself, as well as unusually cranky, and they had begun concocting reasons as to why.

"It's this place…." Merry announced theatrically.

"What's wrong with Seattle?" Pippin interrupted.

"It's that _thing_ around your neck…" continued Merry overdramatically, ignoring Pippin.

Frodo snapped his book shut and glared wearily up at his friends, before explaining, "It was a gift from Uncle Bilbo, it's for good luck!"

"My dear Frodo Baggins, you are wearing a _tie…_"

"And an ugly one at that!"

Frodo sighed, with the air of one who has seen too much to be bothered by the immaturity of his friends, and once more buried his nose in his book. Undeterred, the two boys continued to express their concern at Frodo's fashion choices, deciding that the aforementioned formal wear was only appropriate at funerals and proms, and since they were at neither of these places, Frodo should lose the tie because he looked like their Great Uncle Hildifons.

"Come on, you guys," Sam finally put in. "You shouldn't go teasing Frodo like that."

Merry and Pippin, however, ignored him. Since they were unable to get Frodo to abandon his book or his tie, they opted to join him. Merry pulled a heavy book of his own out of his backpack, and Pippin quickly folded a piece of notebook paper into a tie, clipping it to the front of his t-shirt. A trio of girls nearby laughed. Sam whipped around as was about to tell them off as well, when he saw who was sitting in the middle of the group. She had curling brown hair and her face was covered in a light dusting of freckles. Her green eyes were laughing. It was Rosie, Merry's long-term girlfriend, who had been going out with him since Sam helped Pippin's lame attempts to set them up in the 7th grade. Sam blushed furiously and turned back to the two troublemakers.

"I think Frodo is just feeling a little under the weather today, that's all."

"Yeah, depressed is more like it," said Merry under his breath, and he and Pippin walked off to their first class, muttering and laughing occasionally.

-----------------------

Arwen sat in homeroom in the same seat she had sat in for the last three years; middle row, the seat by the window. She was the first one to class, like usual, and even though it was fifteen minutes 'til class actually started, she already had her books and pencil out. She didn't expect anyone else to come to class until—at the most—five minutes 'til, and in the case of her fellow senior Angmar, fifteen minutes _after_ class started, so she was surprised when someone else walked into the classroom. It was the same blue-eyed blonde who had asked her where the office was. She had her long hair in a braid reaching halfway down her back, and she looked like school was the last place on Earth she wanted to be. She glanced around at the almost empty classroom, and then went over to Arwen. "Is anyone sitting here?" she asked, pointing to the seat behind Arwen.

"No. If you get to class early, you get to choose your own seat." Arwen gave a friendly smile, but the girl just sat down at her desk and stared glumly out the window. Not one to give up easily, Arwen turned in her seat so she was facing the blond girl again. "Hi, I'm Arwen." She stuck out her hand.

"Eowyn," the girl replied. She looked at Arwen's hand dubiously before stretching out her own to shake Arwen's. An awkward silence fell, finally interrupted by Faramir poking his mousy-haired, bespectacled head into the classroom.

"Hey Arwen."

"Morning Faramir. Good summer?"

Faramir rolled his eyes. "I wish."

"Is your dad still giving you a hard time?"

"Not too much, I think he just resents the fact that I'm going back to school and Boromir isn't." Eowyn looked confused, and Faramir added "Long story."

Arwen gave him a sympathetic smile, then remembered the girl sitting behind her. "Oh, this is Eowyn. She's new."

"And what land do you hail from, lady?" Faramir nodded to Eowyn.

Arwen grinned; Faramir could be such a geek. "He means where are you from."

"I figured," Eowyn said, looking very close to laughter. She turned to Faramir. "Portland. My uncle says we moved here because my brother wanted to go to the University of Washington, but I think there was an out-of-state girlfriend involved."

"Aren't out-of-state girlfriends just away to get away with polyamory?" Arwen asked.

Eowyn stared at Arwen for a minute, and it seemed to Arwen that she was reevaluating her opinion of the girl in front of her. Maybe it was because Arwen had used a word with more than three syllables, or that she had just openly insulted men. Then Eowyn laughed. "I have to say, I agree with you on that one."

Faramir said a hasty goodbye and ran out of the room, so he wouldn't be late to pre-calc, and the two girls continued chatting as the room filled up with people. By the time class had actually started, they were fast friends.

-----------------------

**I swear, I am going to fall asleep if this _stupid_ teacher keeps droning on. Tell me if we get any homework, my eyelids are drooping…**

Pippin folded up the note and passed it to Merry, who was sitting in the seat behind him. Merry looked at the note, hastily scribbled a reply, and passed the folder paper back.

_Homework? I'd almost forgotten what that was... I'm thinking of taking Rosie to the top of the Space Needle... v. expensive though... whaddya think?_

Pippin smothered a laugh. _The Space Needle? He's _got_ to be joking. _It was beyond cliché. He was about to write a reply to Merry asking him if he had hit his head on something, because no one in their right mind would think of something that… mushy, when he was poked sharply by Merry. Pippin turned around in his chair. "What?" he asked. Merry pointed to a blonde girl sitting in the middle row. Their homeroom teacher had just been talking about the after school program, and the girl had _actually _raised her hand. Which meant, Pippin realized, that she had _actually _been paying attention, not dozing off or passing notes like the rest of the class. The teacher looked just as surprised as everyone else.

"Yes, er…" he struggled for her name, "Eowyn?"

"Professor Glorfindel, I know the school doesn't have a soccer team," she said, not trying to hide her disdain, "but is there a team in the neighborhood I could play on?"

"We--"

"There is _one_ team…" A boy in the corner interrupted. Pippin looked over at him. He was dressed all in black leather, from his jacket reading _'Lord of the Nazgul' _on the back to the combat boots he was resting on his desk. "...but you couldn't play on it. In fact," he continued, moving his feet of the desk so he could turn to face Eowyn, "you'd probably have to work twice as hard to be half as good as the guys. Of course, that's not saying much, since I've never seen a more hopeless team." He leaned closer and said in a mock-sympathetic stage whisper, "I'm sure the _cheerleaders_ will let you cry along with them when they lose... _again._"

"Angmar, that's enough." The teacher had recovered his dignity. "What I believe he is trying to say," Glorfindel said, turning to Eowyn, "is that the team we refer our students to, the Briar Crest Bandits, is an all boys team. However, we have a wonderful cheerleading program…"

Pippin had stopped paying attention, as Merry had passed him a note.

_Can you believe what he just did? What a bastard. I think he deserves the first prank of the year, and to get put on our permanent hit list._

Pippin stared at the note, and then started writing.

**Hello? Earth to Merry? Engage brain before making threats. We'd be _so_ dead, even if the prank did succeed. Senior, probably a gang leader + prank Merry and Pippin dead in a ditch somewhere. Get my point?**

_If it were a successful prank, he wouldn't even know! We can't let him go unpunished... But we should wait until we know more about him._

**Fine. You give me an idea, I'll come up with a plan. But we should wait until we've warmed up by pulling a prank on a teacher or something… Honestly, you are _such_ a lady's man. "He can't go unpunished."**

_Oh, shut up... what I meant was that every total jerk deserves to be humiliated in front of his peers. And just because you don't have a girlfriend, doesn't mean you can call me a lady's man._

**I—**

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Pippin crossed out what he had written, and ran over to his friend.

"Merry?"

"Yeah?"

"Did we get any homework?"

-----------------------

Aragorn was walking through the hallway on his way to lunch. He thought it would have been hard to start at a different school in his senior year, but he had already made two new friends, who were walking with him. Aragorn had met Legolas and Gimli in homeroom, and they welcomed him into their little group immediately, promising to show him who was cool, and who to watch out for.

The cafeteria was packed to the ceiling with people; students chatting, laughing and generally having fun, their lunch trays lying forgotten in front of them. The three boys walked over to the lunch lady, who slopped "food" onto their plates. Aragorn assumed it was some kind of meat, but couldn't really tell.

"Mmm.. Cafeteria goodness," Legolas mocked, and the other boys laughed.

They wandered over to one of the long tables, where Legolas and Gimli set down their trays directly in the middle. Aragorn followed suit, noting curiously that the other students seemed to be avoiding them, the same way they were avoiding the leather-clad gang in the corner, only without the looks of terror. Brushing it off, Aragorn took stock of the rest of the cafeteria. A pretty dark haired girl was chatting with a tomboyish blonde at the table next to them, while a group of freshmen talked across the way. A bespectacled boy with mousy brown hair walked over to where the dark haired girl waved. Gimli and Legolas stood up and proceeded over to the boy. _Must be another one of their friends, _Aragorn thought, following the other boys, but his theory was immediately proven wrong when Gimli stuck out his foot and tripped him. The boy's tray flew out of his hands and his glasses went spinning across the cafeteria floor. Legolas walked over to him, his handsome face twisted into an ugly sneer.

"What're you doing back at school, Coffee-Boy?" he asked mockingly, "Shouldn't you be dropping out this year? After all," he smiled meanly, "It's a family tradition."

"Wow, did it take you all summer to come up with that one?" the boy murmured exasperatedly, his voice almost inaudible. Aragorn, shocked, stood there stupidly while the boy fumbled for his glasses.

"Oh, yeah, _summer,_" said Legolas nostalgically, "How was yours? Let's see… bring beer to Daddy, bring coffee to customers, bring vodka to Daddy, bring coffee to customers… you're well on your way to becoming a great _waitress_." He said all this with an air of self-satisfaction, as if he had just come up with a truly brilliant and biting remark. Aragorn wondered if he could tell that the reason for the boys silence was not hurt feelings, but resignation. Legolas was just about to unleash another round of insults, when someone finally spoke up from the table near them.

"Stop it!" It was the dark haired girl at the table. She was obviously angry, but there was a touch of exasperation in her voice, as though this kind of thing happened often. The girl turned to the boy, her voice softening. "They only say bad things about you because they can't say anything good about themselves." She faced Legolas and Gimli. "Do you really have to do this on the first day of school? You're acting like _second graders_." Legolas snorted and stalked off with Gimli in tow, not even bothering to see if Aragorn had followed. "Don't listen to them," the girl said consolingly, "And don't retaliate, it only adds fuel to the fire…" She leaned down to help the boy being gathering up his fallen lunch. Aragorn, completely unsure of what to do, stared at his feet, ashamed. He couldn't believe he had counted those bullies as friends!

"Hey, you!" It was the blonde girl. "You wanna sit here?" She pointed to the seat across from her. "What's your name?"

"Aragorn." He walked over to her.

"I'm Eowyn." She motioned to the brown haired boy. "This is… Faramir, Faramir, this is Aragorn." She pointed to the other girl. "That's Arwen."

"Hi." Arwen looked up with a smile and Aragorn's jaw dropped. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her dark hair fell into her clear grey eyes as placed the last of Faramir's spilled food on his tray. Aragorn stared unabashedly, all the cliché pick-up lines he had ever heard that involved 'angels' and 'heaven' running through his head.

"Earth to zombie boy?" It was Eowyn. She waved her hand in front of his eyes. "You gonna sit down or what?"

"Oh, yeah." Aragorn slid into his seat, but kept looking at Arwen.

-----------------------

"You know, Frodo, you're the only one here wearing an ugly tie."

"Merry, no one else here is wearing a tie."

"Good point, Pip."

Rosie laughed. The two boys were still dead set on getting a reaction out of Frodo, and had not seen fit to change the subject of their teasing. "You know this joke is getting really old."

She was sitting at a table in the cafeteria with the other new freshmen, enjoying her lunch from home, while a few others tried to steal it. They had learned right away that the school food wasn't edible when Pippin found unidentifiable orange bits in the meat, closely followed by Merry discovering that one could, quite easily, mash the green beans into a past that would stick to almost anything.

"Well," said Pippin, drawing Rosie back into the conversation, "jokes are like cheese!" He nabbed the sting cheese from Rosie's lunch to illustrate his point.

"How?" asked Frodo, looking up from his book long enough to poke a hole in Pippin's analogy. "How, exactly, are jokes like cheese?"

Pippin fell silent, struggling with a way to compare two unrelated things. The string cheese in his hand drooped dejectedly. Then, his eyes lighting up, he stated: "Jokes are like cheese, the older, the better!"

"Yeah," said Merry, "And when they get too old, they start to stink." This earned a laugh from the whole table. Rosie grinned slightly at Merry's immature humor, which none the less seemed to amuse everyone. She looked over at Sam, whom she expected would share her exasperation. Instead, she caught him staring at her, but he turned away as soon as she met his gaze and started prodding the gloopy mush on his plate, blushing. He had been giving her The Look again. She sighed.

Rosie assumed The Look had originated sometime after she had started dating Merry. Sam had lived across the street from Rosie for as long as she could remember, and for all that time they'd been best friends. Now whenever she tried to talk to him, he mumbled and looked down at his feet, or blushed and didn't say anything at all. It was like loosing a part of her; gone was the friend with whom she'd shared inside jokes and slices of watermelon, and all that was left was an increasingly insecure teenager who seemed to shy to talk to her. She valued Sam's friendship immensely, and she had never thought it would change. Rosie leaned her head on Merry's shoulder, and he put his arm around her and gently stoked her hair.

Apparently, high school was a lot more complicated than middle school.

-----------------------

Faramir got to art five minutes early, as he had done all last year. The art room was the same as it always had been; the paint splattered floor, the duck-taped easels. Professor Galadriel, with a paintbrush behind her ear, was in a corner sketching a still life. She turned around when he walked in. "You're early," she said. "Free art today, just pick a medium from the cupboards on the left. There's plenty of paper on the easels."

Faramir walked over to the cupboards and picked out a set of charcoal pencils before walking to an easel. The room slowly began filling up with people. The freshmen pulled their easels together into the circle in the corner. The only other sophomore was the blonde girl¾Eowyn¾that he had met in homeroom, who pulled her easel up next to his and began painting. Apparently, Drawing and Painting was as unpopular as it had been last year, but that was fine with Faramir; he liked a small class, and it was the only time he didn't have Legolas and Gimli picking on him.

"Hey." It was Eowyn. She looked nervous. "So... I'm guessing your dad's like, an alcoholic or something."

"Interesting conversation starter, but yes. How'd you know?"

"Well, the way those assholes were going on about it... it was hard not to notice. Is it... you know... hard, living with him?"

"Not really, he's just drunk most of the time. And I don't cater beer to him, if that's what you were thinking," he said bitterly.

"No! I wasn't"

"I'm sorry, I'm being an ass. I just get a little… touchy about the subject." He laughed dryly. "If you wanna know someone who's really bitter, you should meet my brother Boromir. He's always up-in-arms about things... you see, when my mom died and Dad took up drinking, he dropped out of school in sophomore year--my year--to run our little family coffee shop and support us. I think my dad wished that I had dropped out; Boromir was always his favorite. Anyway, before he dropped out, they built a Starbucks across the street and almost put us out of business. Boromir was always getting in fights with Arwen when he was at school."

The off-hand manner in which he said this apparently shocked Eowyn. All she could say was "Arwen?"

"Yeah, Arwen. Her dad's vice-president of Starbucks. I don't hold it against her, but she always seemed to bug the crap out of Bori."

"Bori?" Eowyn asked, "Is that some kind of childhood nickname?"

"Yeah," said Faramir, blushing, "He was Bori, and I was Fari."

"I'm going to call you that."

"No! You can't call me that! No one but my mom and brother have ever called me that."

"Someone has to keep up the tradition... Fari." She grinned wickedly. Faramir shrugged, and went back to sketching, smiling.

-----------------------

Boromir glanced up from the magazine he was reading as his younger brother slid into the seat next to him. One glance at the car's clock told him it was 2:45, twenty minutes after the time that Boromir had agreed to pick Faramir up from school. Faramir saw him look at the clock and he mumbled a hasty "Sorry I'm late."

"You have art 6th period again don't you?"

"Yeah," said Faramir. Boromir smiled, which was something rarely seen from him after he had to drop out of school.

"You just _had_ to finish that sketch, I suppose," he said, turning the key in the ignition. Boromir had been in the neighborhood that day, so he offered to pick Faramir up from school. It didn't bother him at all, really. Boromir liked hearing how Faramir's day had gone, since he couldn't be at school himself.

"Well, actually," Faramir said as they pulled away from the curb with a nasty screech, "I met this girl in art and we ended up chatting. I didn't realize how late it was until Professor Galadriel reminded us that we were going to miss the bus." Boromir raised an eyebrow when Faramir mentioned the girl, but didn't make any comments. "So how was your day?"

"Well, not nearly as interesting as yours," Boromir said, pulling into the driveway of their house-¾a small, two story building, the first floor of which was comprised of their small coffee shop. "I had an employee quit on me because he refused to work for a senior in high school, that damn Starbucks vice-president came by and offered to buy our coffee shop, and Dad found his credit card under the couch cushion where you hid it and bought another bottle of vodka." He smiled bitterly.

"Wait!" said Faramir, following Boromir up the stairs to the back door. "He offered to buy our coffee shop? What did you tell him?"

"I told him to get out of my shop, and would have told him to go to hell while he was at it, but I didn't want to make a bad impression on the customers."

Boromir checked on the status of his father—asleep on the couch at the moment—and followed his brother into the kitchen. "So, Fari," said Boromir, pulling some bread out of the cupboard, "Tell me about this girl you met."

"Well... for one thing, she's the only one besides you and Mom who's ever called me Fari." He grinned sheepishly. "Though that's my fault 'cause I told her about it. Let's see... she's about my height, with long blonde hair and blue eyes and—"

"You like her," said Boromir matter-of-factly.

Faramir blushed and looked at his feet. "Nah, she's just a friend… ish… thing…" he trailed off, mumbled something unintelligible, and took a unnecessarily large bite out of his sandwich.

"I know," said Boromir, feigning seriousness, "I didn't mean to embarrass you…" He stopped talking and started to put the dishes in the sink. Still holding a plate, he turned to face Faramir and added as an afterthought "But when you talk about her, I mean, your eyes get all big and googly and you can practically _see _the hearts coming out of your head…"

----------------

**A/N:** Reviews are lovely, dahlings!

**NEXT: **Eowyn gets in a fight, Merry gets told, and a feeling of Get To Know You Bingo is in the air.


	2. Tempers Flare

**Disclaimer:**We, the Sisters Elladan and Elrohir, hereby admit to owning absolutely nothing, except Briar Crest High itself, and then just the building, not the people in it. Starbucks is not ours either. Dur.

**A Year At Briar Crest High**

**Chapter 2: Tempers Flare**

**OR**

**In Which Pippin is told to Pay Attention**

"Put x2 + 4x + 12 in vertex form." Merry groaned. He was trying to finish his math homework at the last minute—literally the last minute, because it was 60, no, 58 seconds before the beginning of homeroom. _X__2__ + 4x as a perfect square would be… _50 seconds_. X__2__ + 4x + 4. And to make 4 equal 12 you have to subtract 8, which simplified is... _40 seconds. _Is… _He scribbled the problem on the margin of his paper. 20 seconds…_ (x + 2)_2_ - 8._

The bell rang. Merry shoved the math sheet into the far reaches of his backpack, where the likelihood he would ever find it again was very slim. He looked up at the teacher. Professor Glorfindel had begun to explain the day's class, some kind of get-to-know-you thing. They were supposed to get into partner groups with someone of the opposite gender and in a different year and ask him or her a set of preplanned questions. The whole class groaned, but began to separate into groups. Merry rolled his eyes. He hadn't done anything this stupid since Get-To-Know-You Bingo in the 6th grade. Pippin walked over to him and together they began looking for partners.

"'What's your name?'" Merry recited, looking first at the questions on his assignment sheet and then expectantly at his partner; a tall, blonde girl in sophomore year. Professor Glorfindel had gotten so tired of people taking forever to pick a partner that he ended up pairing everyone up himself. Merry glanced over at Pippin, who had been partnered with a dark-haired senior, and was obviously nervous about being paired with a girl who was 3 years older than him, and at least a head taller to boot. Frodo had been paired with Diamond, who was trying desperately to get him to abandon his teenage angst and smile.

"Hmm?" asked Merry's partner. She looked extremely bored.

"I said, 'what's your name?'"

"Eowyn, she said, "Yours?"

"Merry." Eowyn nodded and went back to doodling on her paper. Merry turned in his chair and mouthed at Pippin "_This is __so__ boring._" Pippin looked confused. "_This--is--so--__boring_," Merry mouthed again. Pippin furrowed his eyebrows. Merry sighed, tore a piece of paper out of his binder and scribbled on it:

_What is was trying to tell you is that this is really boring. I mean, the people who made this thing up must have plotted so that all of the questions are things we really don't care about. "What's your favorite pet's name?" What are they trying to do, kill us?_

Eowyn watched with a look of slight interest as Merry crumpled up the note. He put it on the floor and kicked it to Frodo, who passed it to Pippin. Pippin read it and wrote a reply, crumpled it up, passed it to Frodo, who kicked it to Merry. He unfolded the paper and read Pippin's response.

**Help! I can't even write this note without my partner getting on my case about paying attention! As for the questions, "What's your greatest ambition?" How about making it 'till lunch…**

_She's telling you to pay attention? What does she have, some kind of disease? And how about this question: "If you were a color, what color would you be, and why?" What are they going to ask next, what's you favorite kind of CHEESE??_

Merry watched Pippin laugh at the note, before writing a reply and passing it to Frodo. Frodo kicked it to Merry, but before it reached him it was stopped by a large black leather combat boot. Angmar picked up the note and threw it nonchalantly into the trashcan, before walking over to where Eowyn was sitting.

"Hanging out with freshmen now, are we?" he asked, placing his hand on the front of her desk.

"No one invited you over here, Angmar," Eowyn said coldly.

"I don't need to be invited by anyone, least of all you."

"Why don't you just leave her alone!" Merry said. "She hasn't done anything to you!" Angmar turned to glare daggers at Merry and he immediately regretted saying anything at all.

"Oh, so now she needs some _freshman_ boy to protect her." He sneered. "Or maybe it's the other way around? She can't protect you, she's just a _wimpy little girl_."

Merry stood up so fast that he knocked his chair over. By now half the class was watching.

"Oh…" Angmar smiled evilly, "You just can't stand it if I insult her, can you? What would you do…" he leaned closer, "If I said she was a sophomore weakling who could only ever get anywhere near a soccer field by associating with a cheerleader, and she has to be defended by a stupid _freshman_ who's sense of righteousness is so _distorted_ that he actually believes he has to be _every girl's white knight_."

Merry lunged forward, but Eowyn threw out her arm to stop him. "Your chivalry is much appreciated, but only _trying _to hurt him won't solve anything. However--"

"See? She's just as softhearted and weak as I said she was," Angmar smirked.

"--_Actually_ hurting him will," Eowyn said, taking a step forward, and sunk her fist into Angmar's face.

-----------------------

"You broke his nose!?" Arwen stared at her newest friend with a look of mingled disbelief and horror. "What will everyone say? It's only the second day of school and I've already fallen in with delinquents and hoodlums and I can't _believe _you broke his nose!"

"Well, detention made it slightly less satisfying, but still…" Eowyn trailed off and went back to mangling the frog she was supposed to be dissecting, every now and then looking at Angmar and then attacking the poor amphibian with renewed vigor. Arwen was writing an essay on the purpose of each section of a frog's anatomy, since she refused to dissect any kind of animal. Essay writing was a common occurrence in this class for Arwen, since Science always seemed to involve some sort of animal cruelty.

"Will you stop shredding that frog?" Arwen rounded on Eowyn, "I mean, look at it!" she pointed to the mangled heap, "You can't even tell where the head is anymore! You're as bad as him." She pointed at Angmar, who was humming a mournful dirge as he slowly cremated his frog with a cigarette lighter.

"Fine." Eowyn pushed the remains of her frog to the other side of the table. Arwen put down her essay, finished in record time, and looked around at Aragorn. His brow was furrowed as he carefully dissected his frog. He looked so... _cute._ _Wait a minute, _she thought. She was not going to fall for someone without knowing more about him. She had thought Boromir was cute, but _noooooo_, he couldn't give up the Starbucks thing, could he?

"Um... excuse me…" It was Aragorn. He had walked up to her table when she wasn't looking.

"Oh. Hi," she said. He really was cute.

"Um... could I borrow that scalpel?" He pointed to the shiny metal implement lying next to the remains of Eowyn's frog. "Y'know, to...um...dissect my... um.…" He mumbled and gestured meaninglessly at the table where he had been sitting.

"Sure." She picked it up, her fingers brushing his palm as she handed it to him. He smiled and walked back to his table, placing the scalpel next to the one already sitting on his desk.

-----------------------

Faramir munched his sandwich thoughtfully, trying to ignore Eowyn. For the last fifteen minutes she had used every possible opportunity to call him Fari. He didn't really mind that much, but he was afraid someone would hear. Eowyn, however, was so busy thinking of things to say that had 'Fari' in them that she didn't notice when Legolas and Gimli walked over. Faramir frantically signaled her to be quiet, but it was of no avail. "Hey, Fari--"

"_Fari_? Oh, look, now he has a girlfriend who calls him stupid baby names. Or is that something your mother calls you?" Legolas drawled as Gimli laughed.

"You have to stand up to them!" Eowyn hissed in Faramir's ear, "You can't just let them walk all over you! If you don't stand up to them now they'll keep treating you like a door mat!"

But Faramir wasn't listening to Eowyn, or Legolas' ongoing teasing. He simply looked at the floor, jaw clenched. _Called me, _he thought miserably, _it was something she _called_ me._

"Are you just going to let them do this to you?" Eowyn continued, "There are a lot of effective ways to get people to stop teasing you--trust me, I know--and being comatose is not one of them! Arwen says these guys tortured you all last year, and you haven't done anything! Do you want them to tease you?"

"No."

"Then do something!"

Meanwhile, Legolas was continuing his tirade, unaware of how effective his insults had really been. Eowyn, unable to motivate Faramir, muttered "I bet you brother would stand up to these guys." And that was enough.

"Look, just shut the _hell _up!" Legolas and Gimli fell were silent instantly. "I am sick and tired of you insulting me all the time! You think picking on other people will make you feel better about yourselves, but you know what? It doesn't, and it _never_ will, so why don't you just… piss off and leave me and my friends alone!" The whole lunchroom stared. A curly haired freshman at another table finally broke the silence.

"Damn, you got _served_!" He grinned, and the freshmen at his table laughed. Legolas and Gimli stormed back to their table, but not before slamming the poor freshman's head face first into his plate of turkey tetrazinni.

-----------------------

Pippin lifted his face from his plate of lunch and smiled sheepishly. "Well, that was fun."

"Why do you always have to open your big fat mouth?" Merry shook his head sadly.

"I couldn't help it."

"You never can."

"I won't do it again."

"You--"

"Would you guys just shut up for once?" Rosie interjected, quite unnecessarily. "This 'playful banter' crap does get annoying, you know." She sighed and turned to Pippin, whose face still had bits of turkey stuck to it, "Let's go get you cleaned up."

Merry stared at Rosie, who was walking out of the lunchroom. "What was that all about?"

"I think she's mad at you."

"Well, that's _obvious_!"

Pippin followed Rosie out into the hall. Merry ran after him, aware of the dark stares of Rosie's friends. "What?" Merry shouted over his shoulder as he walked toward the lunchroom door.

Pippin turned around, just in time to see one of Rosie's friends grab the back of Merry's jacket, nearly pulling him over backwards.

"You know perfectly well what!" It was Estella, the tall one with the short strawberry blond hair. Diamond was standing behind her, tugging on one of the red streaks in her curly black hair and staring boredly into space.

"Um... I don't know what you're talking about." Merry said, thoroughly confused. Estella laughed humorlessly. "No, honestly! What's the problem?"

"What's the problem?" Estella scoffed, "You're the problem!"

"Me?"

"Yes, you!"

Pippin watched as Estella began ranting, waving her spork like a weapon. Pippin thought it was rather funny, as long as he wasn't involved. Diamond smiled at Pippin.

"You! It's only the second day of school and you're flirting with that Eowyn girl!"

"What!"

"Everyone knows it, I'm just saying it. And Rosie's upset."

Rosie did not look at all upset but watch with a look of slight satisfaction as Estella waved her spork menacingly close to Merry's nose. She raged on, "¾You're just like Legolas, you two-timing, cheating, son of a¾"

Pippin turned to Rosie. "I think you'd better stop your friend before she spears my cousin with a spork."

"I'm not stopping her."

"Are you condemning your own boyfriend to death by spork?" Rosie said nothing. Pippin sighed and walked over to Merry, who was still being verbally assaulted by the spork-wielding Estella. He tapped Merry on the shoulder and whispered, "Those who fight and run away live to fight another day."

"In English please," Merry sighed exasperatedly.

"I say we flee."

"Ooookay…" He turned to Estella. "Um... it was lovely to chat, anytime, but...um... I'll just go and… uh... Arrange to take Rosie out somewhere nice to make up for the... er... Misunderstanding." Estella lowered her spork warily, and Merry and Pippin walked away as quickly as possible.

"A _date_?" Pippin hissed, "Where are you going to take her?"

"Oh, I dunno…" Merry grinned roguishly. "How 'bout the Space Needle?"

-----------------------

If someone had broken her nose, Eowyn would have argued that cleaning graffiti off the bathroom walls was not nearly adequate punishment. She would have demanded that they scrub the school toilets with their own toothbrush, pay for her doctor bill, and she probably would have socked them in return. However, since Angmar wasn't exactly the type to relate the incident to his family (if he even had one), and since he told Principal Celeborn that his nose was bruised, not broken (all though everyone knew the truth anyway), the most the school could do was give her detention for a week.

After art, Eowyn borrowed Arwen's cell phone to call her brother Eomer and tell him why she wouldn't get home until 4ish. After his initial reaction ("Eowyn! You shouldn't have!"), he dropped the whole facade and agreed that Angmar was a rotten bastard who deserved it. Eowyn didn't bother to question why he knew that. From there the conversation drifted to people who deserved to have their noses broken, until Arwen grabbed the pink, fuzzy phone away, demanding that she had to go or she would be too late to judge the cheerleading tryouts.

"Cheerleading tryouts?" Eowyn had asked Arwen, astonished. "If our poor, _deprived_ school doesn't have enough money for proper sports, why the hell do we have cheerleaders? What would they cheer during, the geography bee?" She laughed meanly. "I mean, _honestly_…"

Arwen silenced her with a scathing look. "_I_ got Daddy to sponsor them, since I wanted to cheer so bad," she explained, stuffing her cell phone back into her backpack. "We just cheer for the Bandits." And with that, she sprinted down the corridor toward the gym, clearly affronted by Eowyn's lack of school spirit.

So Eowyn, along with Merry and, unfortunately, Angmar, was stuck listening to Principal Celeborn rant for twenty whole minutes about the evils of fighting at school.

She pushed open the door to the girl's bathroom, which smelled strongly of mildew, and put her bucket on the floor. Her first order of business was obviously to get the large "_I wuz here_" scrawled in flowery writing on the back wall. It was written in ballpoint pen, and came of easily under the highly astringent and lemony fresh soap in the bucket.

"Once a yak, a yak 4 ever" was written on the inside of a stall, along with varied initials of long gone students. Hidden behind a toilet paper holder, someone had written, "Prof. Glory is a wanker." Underneath that, people had elaborated to the extreme; the last one contained the words "goat" and "his ex mother-in-law" flooded in a tide of swear words.

It was hard work. Eowyn's arms ached as she scrubbed "Thanx 2 whoeva cleans this filthy bathroom" from where it was written behind a toilet. She continued to work, and by 10 after 4:00 she had cleaned it all up. She was standing back to admire her work when she saw it, written under the sink in heavy black Sharpie. Inside a large heart someone had written "I LOVE LEGGY!" Eowyn narrowed her eyes and began to scrub at it with a vengeance. No matter how hard she tried, it just wouldn't come off. Legolas didn't deserve to have nice things written about him on a wall, after all the things he did to Faramir! But, apparently, it was permanently written there. At a loss, she took a pen out of her backpack and scribbled "You sick freak" underneath it, and walked out of the bathroom.

---------------------------

**A/N:** REVIEW!!

**NEXT: **Aragorn makes a bad bet and a prank is played.


	3. Date, Disguises and Dangerous Betting

**Disclaimer:**We, the Sisters Elladan and Elrohir, hereby admit to owning absolutely nothing, except Briar Crest High itself, and then just the building, not the people in it. Starbucks is not ours either. Dur.

**A Year at Briar Crest High**

**Chapter 3: Dates, Disguises, and Dangerous Betting**

**OR**

**In Which Pippin gives Sage Advice**

Sam sipped his soda slowly, watching Merry and Pippin bask in the admiration of various freshman girls. They were the current celebrities at Briar Crest High, due to the fact that no one could figure out how they had written, "KICK ME" on the butt of Glorfindel's gray Armani suit. Glorfindel, in fact, was the only one who didn't know they were the culprits.

It had been a week since the first day of school. Merry and Pippin pulled their first prank of the year upon the unassuming Professor Glorfindel on the first Friday of the school year; to quote Pippin, "Always pull the prank on a Friday. Then you can hide in your house over the weekend." Not that Pippin had ever had to hide in his house; on the rare occasion that one of his flawless plans failed, Merry always took the blame. It was part of the deal.

Sam threw his empty soda can into the nearest trash bin, walked past Frodo (who was lost in one of the angsty teen novels for which he had developed a penchant) and wandered over to where Merry and Pippin stood. From what he could hear—as Pippin explained to an enraptured Diamond—the prank had been simple. "All we did," he told her conspiratorially, "was write 'KICK ME'—backwards—in red chalk on Glorfindel's chair. Y'see, he never looks at his chair before he sits down; he's too busy lecturing the class. So, when he sat down on his chair, the chalk came off and stuck to his suit. When he stood up and turned around to write on the whiteboard, everyone saw it and cracked up. He had no idea what we were laughing at."

"Why, because he didn't expect anyone to do anything that stupid?" Sam looked around. As he had expected, Legolas and Gimli stood a few paces from the group. Legolas wore his usual smirk. The duo had backed off from picking on that sophomore boy after he had embarrassed them in the cafeteria, so now Legolas and Gimli seemed to be taking it all out on the freshmen.

"Look who's _dying_ to be the center of attention." Merry retorted, unaffected by Legolas' lame insult. Everyone laughed, except for Legolas, Gimli, and Estella, who had not yet given up her issues with Merry's faithfulness.

Legolas' smirk had vanished, but he remained undeterred. "At least I—" but Pippin interjected swiftly, saying, "Oh, go insult someone who cares," before turning right back around to finish his conversation with Diamond.

"Yeah, just leave us alone!" Sam added. Merry nodded appreciatively. Legolas, on the other hand, spun to glare at Sam instead, retaliating as expected. "No one asked your opinion, _fatty_."

Though the insult was familiar, and relatively lame, it still stung. Trying not to show any sign of weakness, Sam turned and began to walk away, cheeks burning. He could hear Pippin's voice fading behind him: "When I said insult someone who cared, I didn't mean _him_."

"Wait." Sam turned; Rosie's hand was on his shoulder. "Don't listen to those guys. They're just—"

"Nah, s'okay, I don't really care…" he mumbled. It was a lie, and he knew it.

"Oh, right…" Rosie smiled faintly and headed back to where Merry was waiting impatiently for her to return.

Sam wished he had told Rosie the truth, even if it was just to have her hand on his shoulder for a moment longer.

-----------------------

Arwen knew that science in Professor ­­­­­­­Saruman's class usually included a lot of risky procedures, things blowing up and unsafe handling of seriously toxic chemicals, but never before had the classroom witnessed anything as dangerously insane as what Eowyn was contemplating.

When Arwen entered the science class room, she found Eowyn already there, looking unusually pensive and staring at Angmar.

"He hasn't done _anything."_

Arwen laid her light purple messenger bag on the table, (she would _never _put it on the filthy floor), took out her notebook, planner and a pencil and set all of them neatly in front of her before replying to Eowyn.

"What?"

"Y'know, since I punched him. He hasn't done anything. No ill-conceived revenge attempts, nothing." She frowned. "I guess I just expected more from him."

Arwen couldn't hear what Professor ­­­­­­­­­­­­­Saruman was saying about reagents and unknowns with Eowyn rambling nonsense in her ear.

"What are you even talking about?" But she never got her reply, because at that moment Professor Saruman appeared beside their table. "Ms. Peredhil. Perhaps you didn't hear me over the incessant chatter of your friend, but I'd much appreciate if you'd reserve your attention for something less banal than the insipid conversations of teenage girls." Arwen stared, shocked into silence. Saruman turned to glower at the rest of the classroom. "This is Science, children. The single most important skill you will acquire in your thankfully limited time here at Briar Crest. Accordingly, I will not tolerate any nonsense in my classroom. I expect you all to give your work your complete and undivided attention." With that, he swept back up to the front of the room.

"What work? We don't even do anything in this class…" Eowyn muttered mutinously. Arwen, a bit miffed that Eowyn had caused her to be called out in front of the entire class, was focusing all her attention at the front of the room where Professor Saruman was lecturing. Eowyn sighed irritably, turning to give Angmar a dirty look to rival Professor Saruman's.

"It's _so_ _**frustrating**_,"

Suddenly, the horrible truth dawned on Arwen, and she whipped around in her chair. "Are you psychotic?" The obvious answer was 'yes,' so she didn't wait for an response. "You actually _want_ him to retaliate?"

Eowyn laughed, as if Arwen was the crazy one. "C'mon, everyone loves a good vendetta. The only verdict is vengeance and all that. Besides, if there's no game, I can't win."

"This isn't a game!" Arwen shrieked, a few decibels higher than would be safe for human ears. Eowyn was sure there was a dolphin somewhere who was very confused. Professor Saruman glared at Arwen, and she continued quietly. "You see him sitting there? Clicking that lighter like a regular pyro, playing 'Will It Burn' with anything within reach? You piss him off, and he'll be playing 'Will It Burn' with your _face_. He is cold as ice, and dead crazy on top of it." She looked pleading. "Eowyn, it's insanity. It's like poking a crocodile with a stick."

Eowyn contemplated this for a minute, then said:

"Crikey."

---------------------

Lunch was, as usual, a boisterous affair. Though the subject of the Prank was fast losing popularity as a discussion topic, it was still on most peoples' minds. At the least, it was still being debated at the table where Aragorn sat with Arwen, Faramir, and Eowyn.

"I know it's practically social suicide to compliment freshmen, especially around them," Aragorn said to Faramir, jabbing his thumb in Legolas and Gimli's general direction, "but you've got to give it to those guys for starting this year off on the right foot." Faramir nodded his approval, and Aragorn looked back over to where Arwen was chattering animatedly to Eowyn about the cheerleading tryouts. Eowyn pointed out right away that she thought cheerleading was the lamest "sport" in the entire world, but from then on kept her feminist opinions to herself, and even congratulated Arwen on the fact that she had assembled a great team for the year.

Aragorn had stopped listening to anything Faramir was saying about the Prank. He was surreptitiously stealing glances at Arwen, who was now trying to convince Eowyn that there was still time if she wanted to try out for the cheer squad. Her grey eyes had that glint in them that they got when Arwen had set her mind on something, and her hair had started to break free from the long ponytail she had tied it back in.

Aragorn shook his head to clear it, and made up his mind. Standing up he said, "I'll be right back," and walked over to the trashcan with his lunch tray, indicating silently that Faramir follow him. Faramir did so, eyebrows furrowed.

"What?" he said, dumping the inedible lunchmeat into the trash.

"I was thinking about asking Arwen out."

"I think you'd have a good chance," said Faramir encouragingly, " She's not going out with anyone right now, and seems to like you too, and she--" But Aragorn was looking over Faramir's shoulder at Legolas, who had been watching them.

"What now?" said Aragorn, more than a little frustrated.

"Don't you think you're being a little optimistic?" drawled Legolas. Aragorn groaned. Both he and Faramir were thoroughly sick of Legolas' petty insults, and had hoped that he had quit bullying them for good after Faramir had yelled at Legolas. But, no such luck. The blonde drawled on, "She's totally out of your league, I mean, look at her." He pointed to the table where Arwen was laughing at something Eowyn had said. "She's an A-plus student, rich, popular, a cheerleader. Don't think for a moment you can pull off that kind of catch just because your father was some famous movie director."

"What, and you could?" Aragorn retaliated without thinking, and then mentally kicked himself. The last thing he wanted was to be make some ridiculous bet with Legolas, of all people. And over Arwen no less!

"Of course I could," Legolas replied smoothly, "And a little challenge would be fun. I bet you that I can take Arwen to the prom--no, Winter Formal, it's closer--and you can't. I take it you bet _you _can?"

"Deal." It was chauvinistic, totally high-school-cliché, and above all, utterly _stupid, _but Aragorn's inner machoness wouldn't let him back down. Instead, he took one last glance at Arwen, and then stuck out his hand and shook Legolas'.

Aragorn looked over at Faramir as they walked back to their table; Faramir was giving Aragorn a look that clearly stated something like "What the hell did you do _that _for?" Instead, Faramir said, "I didn't know your dad was famous. Who is he?"

"Arathorn Dunedain." Aragorn said sullenly. The bet still weighed heavily on his mind and now Faramir had to go and bring _that _up as well.

"_Arathorn Dunedain?" _Faramir looked awestruck. "I'm a huge fan of—" He stopped short. Aragorn knew what he was thinking: Arathorn Dunedain had died 16 years ago.

-----------------------

Eomer walked into his house, thinking of only one thing: the amount of time until his uncle got home. Hurling his backpack into his bedroom with practiced ease, he walked into the next room and booted up the computer. According to the grandfather clock in the corner, he had a good 30 minutes to "waste his life" on internet role-playing sites.

Eomer wore his long blonde hair in a ponytail at the base of his neck, which his girlfriend Lothiriel told him looked rakish and handsome. Eowyn, on the other hand, told him it made him look like a girl.

The door slammed as Eowyn came charging into the house, out of breath. She flung her backpack to the floor and ran upstairs to her room. From where he was sitting, Eomer could see the front lawn where Eowyn's bike lay on its side, wheels still spinning.

"Eowyn!" he yelled upstairs. He could hear her running back down the steps and soon enough, she poked her head around the door frame of the office and said annoyed, "What!? I'm in a hurry, you know."

"Where're you going?"

"Why are you being so nosy?"

"Why are you changing the subject?"

Eowyn sighed. "If you _must_ know, I'm going back to school."

"Scho--" Eomer narrowed his eyes. "You don't have detention again, do you?"

"'Course not." Eowyn said, and disappeared upstairs.

Eomer turned back to the computer to find that his Runescape character--who had been abandoned in the heat of battle--had died and lost all but three of his items.

Five minutes later, Eowyn came back down the stairs; Eomer stopped her before she reached the door.

"What _are_ you doing?" Eomer said suspiciously.

Eowyn looked up. She was dressed in full soccer attire, cleats dangling limply in one hand. When she noticed that Eomer had spotted them, she made a lame attempt to hide them behind her back.

"I thought the school didn't have a team."

"Well," Eowyn said, realizing that she couldn't hide anything from her brother, "the Bandits are holding tryouts at a field near the school, so I thought school was a good alibi. Not good enough, apparently."

Eomer was about ready to give the matter up, but something wasn't right. Then he remembered. "Aren't the Bandits an all-_boys_ team?"

Eowyn rolled her eyes. "'Course they are. Why d'you think I'm dressed like this?"

Eomer reassessed his sister's clothing choices. What little cleavage she had was effectively bound under a baggy white t-shirt, and her face--which had never been very feminine--sported a band-aid. Her hair was completely tucked under a black skull cap. All in all, she looked--well--_sort-of _like a boy. At a loss for anything better to say, Eomer asked "What's the band-aid for?"

"Oh that." Eowyn absentmindedly touched said band-aid and explained, "It's s'posed to draw attention away from the fact that, 1: I'm not a boy, and 2: I'm… me. Works, doesn't it?"

Eomer had to admit she was right. His gaze was definitely drawn less to her face and more to the brightly colored thing on it. Determined not to give up, he said "You can't expect to get away with this just because you have a band-aid on you face."

Eowyn looked crestfallen. She didn't need Eomer's approval, but he knew she liked having it. "It's not that bad, is it? I think I looked boyish enough."

She was never going to give up, Eomer realized. "If I knew you'd do this, I'd never have let you read those damn Tamora Pierce books." Eowyn just stood there, and Eomer finally said "Go on then, make a fool of yourself." He smiled, and her face lit up. She kissed him on the cheek, ran outside, righted her fallen bike, and pedaled--sock-footed--into the distance.

Eomer shook his head at her retreating form, and returned to his role-playing.

-----------------------

"Oy! Pippin! Head's up!"

Pippin looked up just in time to see the soccer ball before it hit him smack in the forehead and sent him reeling sideways. He could see Merry walking towards him, grinning sheepishly.

"Whoops."

Pippin tried not to smile--Merry was wearing a shirt that said "I eat glue"--and attempted to look as angry as possible. "I came all the way to your stupid soccer tryouts-"

"Oh c'mon, you live two blocks away."

"--out of the goodness of my heart, and this is how you repay me? With a soccer ball to the head? I'm _leaving…_" Pippin turned on his heels and began to walk away. Merry just laughed.

"Then I guess you don't want to hear how my date went last Friday."

Pippin turned right back around. He still believed that he was solely responsible for setting Rosie and Merry up in the 7th grade, and he always liked to hear how their relationship was going, as though it were praise for his superior match-making skills. (Which in reality were quite pathetic).

"So, how'd it go?" Pippin asked eagerly.

Merry began walking back toward the bleachers, dribbling the soccer ball. "Oh, it went alright, I guess…"

"And you took her to the Space Needle?"

"No." Merry sighed. "I couldn't pay for it, so I bought her some cotton candy and some popcorn and we sat by the fountain and talked until it got dark."

"That sounds romantic."

Merry let out a frustrated sigh and kicked the soccer ball hard, sending it flying across the field. "There _is no __**romance **_in buying her popcorn!"

"Sometimes it's the little things that mean the most."

Merry looked at him, appalled. "_Who _are you and _what_ have you done with Pippin?" He asked exasperatedly, "And what does that even mean?"

Pippin shrugged. "I dunno, I think I heard it in a movie once."

Merry raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Okay, how 'bout this," said Pippin, shoving the soccer ball back into Merry's hands, "If you keep moping, you'll screw up and never make the team."

"Much better."

-----------------------

_"…Some said that it could be seen, like a great black horseman, a dark shadow under the moon, wherever he came a madness filled our foes, but fear fell on our boldest, so that horse and man--"_

"FARAMIR!"

Faramir groaned and rolled over. "What?!"

"I told you fifteen minutes ago that you had to be down here so I could drive you to your freaking soccer tryouts," Boromir yelled up the stairs, "So put down whatever book it is you're reading and get your ass down here!"

"I'm just finishing this chapter, okay?" Faramir replied. He was used to Boromir's temper. Anyway, Boromir was probably just mad because he couldn't come to tryouts and would just have to hope that he'd be let on the team.

"No, you aren't 'just finishing that chapter'! You know the shop's been closed ever since Mister "I-Won't-Work-For-A-High-School-Student" quit last week, so unless you want to sell your precious books so we can buy groceries, I suggest you hurry up so I'm not late for the interview with our _only _prospective employee!"

Faramir winced. Boromir had guilt-tripping perfected to an art. _It must be hereditary_, he thought morosely. Setting down his book, he hurried downstairs into his family's little coffee shop. Boromir was waiting by the door. Faramir gave him an apprehensive look, and he sighed. "I'm not gonna bite your head off or anything." Boromir ran his fingers through his hair, which was badly in need of a haircut. "I'm just a little stressed, that's all."

Faramir nodded, before asking "Where's Dad?"

"Upstairs watching TV, like usual. Anyway, we'd better get going."

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the field. A small group of people in cleats and jerseys were huddled in one corner, slowly getting soaked by the rain. Faramir jumped out of the car, and Boromir took off, back toward the coffee shop. Head bowed against the steadily-worsening rain, Faramir walked across the muddy field to where the ragged group waited.

Coach Beregond wasn't there when Faramir arrived, but it was common knowledge that Beregond was always late, even to his own tryouts. However, Faramir noted, judging by the small number of people on the field, it didn't look like there would have to be tryouts at all. Boromir might even get a spot on the team.

The potential team was mainly people who didn't go to Briar Crest, but there were a few who did. There was Aragorn, who walked over as soon as he saw Faramir, a couple freshmen, and a boy in a skull cap who Faramir recognized but couldn't remember where he had seen him at school. Faramir sighed. It did not look like a good season for the Bandits.

-----------------------

**A/N:** Woo hoo, actually updating. We rock, and so do reviews.

**NEXT: **A date, a sleepover, and some romantic tension. Tune in next week!


	4. Hands, Happiness and Hypotheticals

**Disclaimer:**We, the Sisters Elladan and Elrohir, hereby admit to owning absolutely nothing, except Briar Crest High itself, and then just the building, not the people in it. Starbucks is not ours either. Dur.

And now, without further ado, we give you:

**A Year at Briar Crest High**

**Chapter 4: Hands, Happiness and Hypotheticals **

**OR**

**In Which Pippin is Unexpectedly Observant**

Pippin had never been a very observant person. In fact, oblivious would be closer to the truth. To his credit, he noticed more than most people realized, but then again, no one had very high expectations of Pippin's observational skills. However, even he could not ignore the fact that something was definitely wrong with Merry and Rosie.

Take, for example, the end of Health class:

"Hey! Rosie!" Merry called, turning away from his conversation with Pippin. (It hadn't been much of a conversation anyway, since Pippin was busy making hand shadow puppets on the projector screen of the most recent lame educational video they were supposed to be watching.) The teacher glared reproachfully. Rosie looked over from where she had been chatting quietly with Diamond and Estella.

"Yeah?" she whispered.

"Can you meet me after school?" He asked, languidly tilting his chair onto its back legs.

Rosie look thoughtful. "Well, I--"

"Great!" Merry said, and turned his back on her.

Rosie let out a quiet sigh and pretended she was focusing on the video. Pippin saw Estella lean over towards her and whisper, "Sure woulda been nice of him to _ask. _What a gentleman."

_This,_ thought Pippin, _Is really, __really__ not good._

Or, for example, lunch:

Pippin had walked with Merry to where the rest of the freshmen sat, Merry ranting about math class again. They sat down at the table to a familiar sight; the girls were talking and trading food, and Sam was talking to Frodo, who was reading another angsty teen novel.

Merry slid his lunch tray on the table and turned to face the older boy. "Hey! Frodo! What's up? You seem really morose."

"Mmhmm?"

"So… how've you been lately?"

"Lately?" There was a pause. "I've been morose."

Unenthused by Frodo's laconic behavior, he turned back to Pippin. "So anyway, Professor Gandalf starts reading me the riot act about how I'm not trying my best--"

"You _don't_ try your best."

"--and how my grade sucks--"

"Well, your GPA is pretty much below sea level."

"--and I felt like telling him," Merry continued, swiping the string cheese from Rosie's lunch, "that just because I don't meet his ridiculous standards doesn't mean I'm a bad person. Besides," he said, "If I was such an idiot, how could I have snagged a girl like Rosie?"

Merry continued to entertain some of the other freshmen with the lame anecdote of the day, but Pippin found himself staring at Rosie's face. She looked to be on the verge of tears. Pippin hoped it hadn't been something he said.

Everything that Merry had ever said to Rosie over the previous years had ranged from chivalrous to obliviously rude, but over the last few weeks, most of his comments fell into the category of "chauvinistic." Rosie seemed more sensitive than normal, and was spending more and more time with Diamond and Estella, away from Merry. Yes, something was not right, and for the first time, Pippin was worried that his matchmaking skills weren't quite up to par.

-----------------------

The school bell ran loudly, signaling the welcome end to another day at Briar Crest High. In Aragorn's opinion the bell was particularly welcome, because it also signaled the start of the weekend; a two day respite from Professor Gandalf's endless lectures on whatever complicated mathematical crap they were supposed to be learning. But math was the least of Aragorn's worries as he walked through the halls and out into the bright sunlight. Something more confusing, more complex than any calculus problem dominated his thoughts. That thing was a girl.

During the last few weeks after his bet with Legolas, Aragorn had heard a non-stop tirade from Faramir about how thoroughly stupid he was to make the bet in the first place, and if he really did like Arwen--and it was obvious that he did--he should cancel the bet. Jokingly, Aragorn had finally told Faramir to lay off the guilt-tripping for _once_, and Faramir never mentioned the bet again.

It wasn't that Aragorn didn't like Arwen; it was just that he didn't want to totally freak out the girl of his dreams by asking her out on the spur of the moment. It just didn't work that way. (Though even Eowyn--notoriously bad at noticing other peoples' feelings--claimed that Arwen was head over heels for him too). So Aragorn waited. In truth, he hadn't just been waiting the week since the bet; he'd been waiting since the first day of school when he'd first laid eyes on Arwen.

Aragorn came down the front steps of the school to see Arwen sitting on the stairs, deep in conversation with Eowyn. Arwen looked up and waved, a cheery smile playing about her glossed lips.

"Hey, can I talk to you?" asked Aragorn.

"Sure." Arwen got up and moved a little ways away from Eowyn, who rolled her eyes and continued to pick at a hole in her cargo jeans. "What's up?"

"I was wondering if… you wanted to go out sometime. Y'know, just the two of us?"

"That'd be great." Arwen smiled. Aragorn grinned back, as Arwen's hand found its way into his. She gave his hand a quick squeeze before standing on tip-toes to give his cheek a shy kiss. Aragorn watched in a slight daze as Arwen ran back over to Eowyn, who was sniggering like mad.

"Great," he repeated to himself quietly. It _was _great. Everything was perfect. Aragorn smiled wider, and headed off to soccer practice.

-----------------------

"Honestly, Rosie, I don't see why you don't just dump him."

Rosie ran her hand agitatedly through her auburn curls and sighed, glaring at her outspoken friend. "Because there's no _reason _to dump him, Estee. Besides, it's not that easy," she explained, "You can't just, y'know, dump someone on the spur of the moment…. It doesn't work that way…"

"Why the hell not?" Estella challenged, before her best-friend instinct kicked in and her voice lowered. "Look, if he makes you this unhappy, why not just dump his sorry ass?"

"He _doesn't_ make my unhappy," Rosie protested weakly.

Estella gave her an 'Oh, _Please'_ look. "Just because he knows you like popcorn and cotton candy and sitting by the fountain at Seattle Center doesn't mean he's the right guy for you."

Rosie mumbled noncommittally, and turned away. Of course she was happy with Merry! Standing outside on the grounds of Briar Crest High, on what might be the last sunny day of the year, with the whole weekend to look forward to, how could anyone not be happy? Ok, so maybe she was a little less than joyous, but that wasn't _Merry's_ fault. It was her fault, for antagonizing endlessly over some non-existent problem. Nobody else seemed to think there was a problem, except for Estella, and she was being, well, Estella. Maybe _something_ wasn't right, but she just couldn't put her finger on it…

"Rosie? Hello?" Estella waved a hand in front of Rosie's face.

"Huh?"

"You totally spaced out. What's up?"

"Nothing," Rosie replied quietly, shaking her head, "Just thinking…"

"Right," said Estella brusquely, "Are you--"

"_Hey Estee!_" It was Diamond, who had gone ahead and was now waiting by the buses, absentmindedly bouncing up and down to whatever song was currently stuck in her head. "You're gonna miss your bus!!"

"Are you waiting for him then?" Estella finished. Rosie nodded. "I guess I'll see you on Monday." Rosie gave her a half-hearted smile, and she ran off toward Diamond and the buses. Turning back toward the school, Rosie sighed, running her hand through her hair again. _Nothing's wrong, _she thought. Maybe if she thought it enough times it'd turn out to be true.

-----------------------

Boromir was a man of very little patience--and he knew it--but at this particular moment he felt as tolerant as, well, a very tolerant person. To start with, the lovely, sunny weather was long gone, replaced with a lovely freak downpour. He had been standing in said rain for over an hour, been hit in the head by soccer balls at least ten times, (two of which he was _sure_ were intentional), and had been yelled at multiple times by Coach Beregond. He had slipped innumerable times and fallen into the mud, had endured the stress and pressure of being the Bandits' _only _goalie, and he still hadn't killed anyone.

Yet.

He thought he might have to though, if the Bandits didn't shape up. This year's team was a mess; the offense all seemed to be aiming for the goalie instead of the goal, and the defense left him unprotected. Neither Coach Beregond nor Aragorn, the team's new captain, seemed to be able to instruct them otherwise. It didn't help that anyone with glasses--namely Faramir--was practically blind because of the rain. Not even the fast-like-a-freak newcomer Dernhelm had scored during the scrimmage. Of course, that was only due to the fact that the damn idiot, on the brink of scoring, had paused to hold his hat on his head and had lost control of the ball. Even though Dernhelm was one of the best forwards on the team, Boromir concluded that if he pulled a stunt like that at the game, he might not be able to control his homicidal tendencies.

Luckily for the team members looking to live, soccer practice was almost over. After the last soccer ball was violently kicked in the direction of the net bag in which they should have been stowed neatly, the players were finally dismissed.

"Can I ask you a purely hypothetical question?" a voice queried from somewhere near Boromir's ear. Boromir turned to see his younger brother, who was looking awkward and more than a little stressed out.

"Sure," he answered, opening a tattered umbrella and handing it to Faramir. Then, by way of explanation, "Car's in the shop, we're walking."

"Oh," said Faramir. Clearly this was a routine occurrence. "Anyway, back to that question. So let's say--hypothetically--I like this girl… and, hypothetically, she might not think too badly of me… Then what do I do?"

"Well," said Boromir, with an air of someone who's been made to walk in the rain with a clearly oblivious brother, "Hypothetically, you ask her out."

"But I don't-- nobody has-- people just don't have that kind of courage!" He paused. "And I'm referring here to people…"

Boromir gave his brother his patented 'You're Being an Idiot' look. "You can't let one little thing get in the way."

"Like you and Arwen?" Faramir teased, "Hypocrite."

Boromir frowned. _He just had to bring _that_ up. _His temper almost go the better of him, until he saw the look on Faramir's face; a mix of apprehension, regret, and terror at his brother's wrath.

Boromir sighed, smiling slightly. "I though we were being hypothetical."

Faramir gave a shaky smile. "Right. Hypothetical."

-----------------------

Sam had been sitting under the lone pine outside the school ever since the bell rang. It was cold, windy, and practically pouring down rain, but he still hadn't left. Why? Her.

It would be so easy to just stand up, walk over to where she stood, shivering in her summer clothes, and say, Hi. It should be easy; right? After all, they'd known each other since elementary; they were neighbors even.

So why couldn't he talk to her?

_Of course I can talk to her,_ Sam thought. He put his book back in his schoolbag, and stood up, before promptly sitting back down again at top speed.

Cursing his own cowardice, he stood up once more and wandered over to where she stood under the awning.

"Uh…. Hey, Rosie."

Rosie looked up, a genuine smile shining from her freckled face for the first time since she'd walked out of Briar Crest High. "Hey Sam."

"What are you doing out here in the rain all by yourself?"

"Same thing you are," she answered, and then, by way of explanation, "Waiting for someone."

Sam panicked for a second, wondering if she knew. Then, just as quickly, he realize that anyone who sits under a tree in the rain is obviously waiting for someone.

"So, uh…. Who're you waiting for?" he asked, after a few more minutes had passed.

"Oh, I'm waiting for Merry. He wanted to walk me home." Rosie looked suddenly distant.

"Oh." Sam tried not to think of all the times _he_ had walked her home. "Well, Merry's got detention. Glued someone to a chair or something. Didn't he tell you?"

Rosie shook her head, looking hurt. "No."

"You mean he told you to wait for him and then just neglected to tell you he wouldn't be meeting you?" It sounded harsher than Sam had intended, and he groaned inwardly.

Rosie, on the other hand, looked angry. "It's not like that!" she snapped. "He probably just forgot!" She looked almost tearful, and Sam absently wondered if Merry was often this inconsiderate. "Who are you waiting for, anyway?" she asked, trying her best to regain composure.

"I was… uh…. Sorta waiting for you…" he mumbled, "Just to make sure you got home safely and… and everything." Then, struck by a sudden inspiration, "I could walk you home."

Rosie looked like she was about to cry again, and Sam winced, knowing he had said something wrong. But then, to his surprise, Rosie smiled. "I would really, really like to walk home with you," she said, and then added, "For old time's sake."

Sam grinned. "I'll just get my stuff then."

-----------------------

When Arwen invited Eowyn over to her house for a "girl's night," she knew she wouldn't be able to skip soccer practice, and she wouldn't want to. But the prospect of having a sleepover at her best friend's (supposedly) huge house was equally appealing. So Eowyn lied. Twice.

First, she told Arwen that she was going to go _watch_ soccer practice. Arwen didn't question her, and was actually pleased by the fact that she would have time to do the weekend's homework before she picked Eowyn up.

Then, she told Arwen that soccer practice ended fifteen minutes later than it actually did, which would give Eowyn time to change into her own clothes, and save her the problem of awkward questions when "Eowyn" showed up right after "Dernhelm" left. Arwen didn't even notice the time was different, or if she did, she didn't let on. Eowyn figured she was still too happy about her recent acquisition of a boyfriend to notice much of anything.

So when Arwen drove up in her pink Mercedes, all of the soccer team members had already dispersed. Arwen apologized for being late and Eowyn sat down in the passenger seat.

"You really have a thing for pink," Eowyn said, one eyebrow raised, as she gestured to the outside of the car.

"It's my brother's," Arwen replied with a perfect laugh.

When they arrived at Arwen's house, Eowyn realized that all the rumors were, in fact, true. Arwen's house was _huge._ It was white, with a wrap-around porch, and looked like it would be right at home on a plantation in the south. Still staring in awe at the size of the house, Eowyn grabbed her overnight things and followed Arwen inside.

The second she entered the house, Eowyn could smell something burning. The aforementioned burning item turned out to be a piece of toast, which was being removed from the toaster in the kitchen with a chopstick, by a boy who could easily be an older, male, jock version of Arwen.

"Hey, how's my favorite little sister?" he asked when he noticed Arwen, turning away from the toast catastrophe. "Have a good day at school?"

"Yep. Is Daddy home yet?"

"Nope, still at work."

"Oh." Then Arwen remembered introductions and added, "Elladan, this is my friend Eowyn. Eowyn, this is my brother Elladan."

_Who apparently can't even make toast, _Eowyn thought, but instead she just said "Hi."

Walking up the staircase to Arwen's room, which matched the rest of the house in its size and grandeur, Eowyn was having trouble fathoming the fact that the toast-burning jock in the kitchen owned a pink car. She was about to voice these opinions, when they reached the top of the stairs and Eowyn's thoughts were interrupted by the opening strains of RENT's _Seasons of Love _coming from the door at the end of the hallway.

As if psychically attuned to Arwen's arrival, another boy appeared from around the doorframe. Eowyn would have sworn it was the same boy from the kitchen--except now dressed in a purple button up shirt and flare jeans, with a pair of scholarly yet fashionable glasses perched upon his nose--if Arwen hadn't previously told Eowyn that her brothers were twins.

"Elrohir, this is Eowyn. Eowyn, this is Elrohir." Elrohir gave Eowyn a friendly hug, and she discovered that he smelled better than she did.

Yes, there was no longer a doubt in Eowyn's mind as to who owned the pink car.

-------------------------

Arwen was a bit of a paradox. Her personality was a mix of straitlaced, straight-A honor student, and boy-crazy, cheerleading mall girl, and her room reflected that. The masses of pink and girly frills were buried beneath neat stacks of books and SAT prep materials. Hints of her brothers' influences were scattered about the room as well; a tennis racket was set neatly on a shelf, and her CD collection supported a few Broadway soundtracks. Awards of various natures and delicate watercolors hung on the walls, and the carpet looked like it had bee vacuumed that very morning. The only part of the room that wasn't obsessively "just-so" was the bed. It sat in the far corner of the room, queen-sized and canopied, with the covers un-tucked and askew. A few books lay open among the blankets, along with a notebook, some loose papers and an impressive assortment of stuffed animals. The pastel, flowered pillowcase was ink-stained from late night homework that had migrated from the desk to the bed.

It was Arwen's haven.

She immediately gravitated toward it upon entering the room, followed by Eowyn. It was after dinner. The two of them had made their own pizza, Arwen's brothers having disappeared to wherever college boys hang out). The girls hadn't talked much--about anything important, anyway; Arwen seemed distracted. She nearly burned the pizza at one point, but brushed it off with a genuine smile, as though she regularly failed at things.

Now she sat cross-legged on her bed, facing Eowyn, who was checking out Arwen's room. Arwen watched as she stopped in front of a movie poster on the wall near the door. Arwen looked at it too, and noticed a name at the bottom that she had never paid attention to before: "Directed by Arathorn Dunedin." _Dunedin. _That was Aragorn's last name. Were they related? What were the chances that she had a poster with one of Aragorn's relatives on it? Was it fate? Was it--

"Were you, at any point in your life, blonde?

Arwen blinked. "What? No."

"So this isn't you?" Eowyn pointed to a blonde beauty in the background of the poster, who could have been Arwen if you gave her a couple of years and a few bottle of peroxide.

"My mom. It was her only real movie. She's in New York now, working in live theater. I always wanted to move there and…" She paused, looking awkward. "…model. I know, lame huh?"

"No, it's," Eowyn struggled for the right word, "…a perfectly valid lifestyle choice okay that's the lamest thing I've ever heard. I mean, do you want to spend the rest of your life being exploited? I'll shut up now…"

Arwen laughed, and her friend moved on to looking at the numerous photos on the desk in the corner. Arwen--being the efficient person that she was--already had a few of her newest friends. She smiled as Eowyn picked up her favorite. It was the four of them--Faramir, Aragorn, Eowyn and Arwen--sitting one the picnic table outside of school, all scrabbling to be ready for when the timer on the camera went off. Faramir was looking confusedly up from his book, as though just realizing what was going on. Eowyn had purposefully nudged Arwen so she tipped into Aragorn, and was looking smugly at the camera. Aragorn and Arwen were still attempting to straighten up; their eyes had met, and they were both blushing slightly. It had been a blustery day, and Aragorn's hair was all windswept and adorable and--

"Hey Arwen?"

"Mmm-hmm?" The spaced-out smile disappeared form Arwen's features as she was nudged back to reality.

"Are you okay? You seem… distracted."

"Oh. It's nothing…" Arwen blushed like in the picture, a little embarrassed that she was so preoccupied.

"No way!" Eowyn moved to sit next to her friend on the bed. "You're still star-struck over the whole--" she did a high pitched and highly inaccurate imitation of Arwen's voice, "'OMG Aragorn asked me out!' thing?"

Arwen laughed. "What, I only get like, four hours to adjust the fact that I have a new boyfriend?"

"Well, no. I just assumed that you were the kind of girl that guys are always chasing. Y'know, the girl who gets asked out a frillion times for every dance, and gets followed around by those weird stalker guys who sneak up behind girls in the hall, and already know their names, and phone numbers, and where they live--"

"Okay, stop it. That's just creepy."

-----------------------

**A/N:** Sorry for the recent complete and utter lack of updates. Been lazy. So, here's Chapter 4, hopefully with Chapter 5 close on its heels. R&R and all.

**NEXT:**Our girls and their guys. Dates, stalkers, bad pick-up lines and (no way!) romantic tension. See you next time!


	5. Relationship Hell

**A/N:**Having received our first (and hopefully only) scathing review for the last chapter, we would like to remind all of our lovely readers that flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Also, we apologize for such a long time without any updating, but we would also like to state that we gave our early chapters some serious reworking, so you can take a peek if you'd like. :D

**Disclaimer:**We, the Sisters Elladan and Elrohir, hereby admit to owning absolutely nothing, except Briar Crest High itself, and then just the building, not the people in it. Starbucks is not ours either. Dur.

And now, without further ado, we give you:

**Chapter 5: Relationship Hell**

**OR**

**In Which Pippin is Considerably Less Observant than in the Previous Chapter**

Merry hated math.

"Ugh. I'm sick of factoring. Half of this doesn't even make sense."

"Use the Factor Fish thing they taught us."

"Can I borrow your calculator, Frodo?"

"Sure."

"Use the Factor Fish? Don't you have any pride left?"

"Nope."

"Ahem."

"If pride is going to affect your grades, you better forget it. I promised Rosie I wouldn't let you fail."

"_Ahem_."

The four boys look guiltily up at Professor Gandalf, who was staring down at them. "I hope you boys are discussing math." The boys hastened to affirm this. Gandalf looked down at Frodo's book. "An excellent choice, but it is rather out of place in a math classroom, don't you think?"

"Oh, there's definitely math in there," Pippin said quickly, "Very relevant."

"Peregrin Took, your excuses never cease to amuse me." Pippin grinned hopefully. "But that does not mean they aren't excuses. Now, if all of you could please pay attention. I'd hate for you to get behind." Merry preformed an impressive faceplant onto the table as Professor Gandalf gave him a pointed look before walking away. Whatever complaints he muttered into the table were inaudible. He could hear Pippin and Frodo's hushed conversation, and the soft squeaking of Sam's mechanical pencil as he attempted to take notes over the din.

"If you didn't read 1,000 page books, they would be so much easier to hide."

"1,137 pages," Frodo muttered as he defiantly resumed reading.

Merry raised his head from his desk. "I can't believe Rosie think that I'm going to fail math. She just assumes that I need Sam's help in order to pass." He doodled along the edges of his paper. "Everything I do is wrong these days. She seems to expect the worst from me." He turned to Pippin for support. "Like that time at the beginning of the year. All I did was try and stand up for that blonde girl, and she starts acting like I've cheated."

"That was just Estella," Pippin reassured him. "She's been like that since, well, ever."

"But _why?_"

"She hates you," Pippin and Sam said simultaneously, just as Frodo said "She likes you."

Merry scoffed. "That's ridiculous."

"You're right," Frodo recanted dryly, "She hates you with the fires of a thousand suns." A moment later he was immersed in his book.

Merry signed, and stared blankly in the direction of Gandalf and his overhead projector. He couldn't stop thinking about Rosie. "She hates me. That's just it. She actually hates me."

Pippin nodded, not really paying attention. "Yup."

"I'd always assumed she really cared for me; that everything would be okay."

"You're pretty blind then, 'cause it's pretty clear you were wrong."

"I never meant to give her any reason to hate me."

"Yeah?" Pippin leaned back in his chair and started flicking bits of paper at the ceiling. "Well, you act like you hate her."

"I don't mean to, I'm just such an _idiot_ sometimes, I say the wrong thing and don't even realize it I guess, I don't mean to be insensitive or whatever it is that she hates about me. I just want us to be okay."

Pippin leaned back further in his chair. "I don't think you two will ever be okay."

Merry glared at his cousin. "How can you say that? You know she's the only person I wanna be with."

Pippin made a strangled noise of surprise and toppled over backward. His head reappeared over the top of his desk. "_What?!"_

"I don't think Pippin realized the subject of the conversation had changed, Merry," Frodo said without looking up from his book. Pippin's look of shock faded into one of confusion.

"We're not talking about Estella anymore, are we?"

------------------------

"Oh god _dammit_! Dammit, dammit, dammit…" Eowyn muttered, mantra-style, "You can't do this to me!" I am _not_ going to be late because my-- stupid-- backpack-- won't-- zip!"

She was standing in the hallway by her locker, trying to get the impossibly stuck zipper on her backpack to close. "Dammit!" She jerked the zipper violently and, losing her grip, dropped her backpack. She watched in horror while it--as though in slow motion--tumbled to the ground, spilling textbooks and binders across the hallway.

The bell rang and the hall emptied, leaving Eowyn alone to curse her stupidity. Resigned to her tardy fate, she turned to slam her locker shut, no longer caring about the time it would take to gather up al her school supplies. _It's not like it matters that much, _she thought, absentmindedly spinning the dial on her lock,_ it's only my… third tardy. That only means… dammit! That means lunch detention to make it up._ Lost in thoughts of excuses and explanations, Eowyn turned to find someone's face inches from her own.

She jumped backwards, slamming her elbow into the handle of her locker and fighting the urge to gasp in pain.

"Jesus _Christ! _Sneak up much?" she asked angrily, rubbing her elbow as she assessed the boy who stood before her.

He would have been taller than Eowyn, if he hadn't been slouching so much. He had dark, watchful eyes deep-set in a pallid face framed by equally dark hair. He stood for a moment, silent, before speaking.

"You dropped your books."

"Uh, yeah… I noticed," Eowyn answered, still trying to catch her breath.

"I picked them up for you," he said, and indeed he had. Sufficiently creeped out, she snatched them back.

"That's really nice of you and all, and I'm sure that on whatever planet you come from stalking makes all the girls feel special, but I really have to get to class now." With that, she hurried off. Never had she been so glad to go to science.

Behind her, she heard him say, "See you around, Eowyn."

------------------------

Arwen had never bought school lunch in her entire life. Every morning she had packer her own lunch in a paper bag; one juice box, two string cheeses, a container of yogurt, and an apple. Sometime she packed a homemade chocolate chip cookie, if her brothers hadn't eaten them already.

In any case, Arwen felt considerably out-of-place standing in line with a dollar fifty (in nickels and dimes) held in her hand. She had no idea why anyone would want to spend their money--even sub-couch cushion change--to get biohazardous waste in a pre-wrapped Styrofoam tray. _They're probably breaking a million health regulations,_ she thought_, not to mention the money they're dishing out to meat companies who probably misuse and mistreat their animals, keeping them in pens where they can barely--_

"Hey."

Arwen turned to face Legolas, who had suddenly appeared in line behind her. He grinned at her, his characteristic smirk bleeding into his brilliant smile.

"What's a classy girl like you doing in line for this crap?" he asked, poking one of the rolls to emphasize his point. The roll seemed to deflate sadly.

"I'm buying lunch," she said patiently, "for a friend who hasn't realized that tardies lead to detention." Why was he talking to her? It didn't make sense. He hated her and her friends, that was clear enough, so why was he suddenly being all smarmy? It was totally illogical.

Arwen hated illogical.

She moved forward, but Legolas slid in front of her.

"Going so soon?" he asked. His smirk was back with a vengeance.

"We're holding up the line," Arwen murmured. He didn't move. "Look, I have to pay, alright? Just… _move_."

Legolas opened his wallet slowly, handing the woman at the cash register three dollars.

"Lunch is only a-- oh." This was just too weird.

"You're welcome?"

Arwen sighed and picked up her tray. "You didn't have to do that."

"Maybe I did it because I wanted to."

Arwen just walked away, head held high. She didn't have to talk to him, not after all the years he had spent tormenting Faramir.

Without warning, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"I have a proposition for you."

Arwen revolved slowly, resigned to her fate. Legolas' thin nose was just inches from her own.

"Go to the Christmas Formal with me."

Arwen's breath caught in her throat. This was full on Midsummer Night's Dream _madness_.

"I know, I know," he said, feigning humility, "Someone as intelligent as yourself probably would want to go to a stupid dance and listed to bad music, but…"

Arwen shrugged off his hand, taking a step backwards. "It's the _Winter _Formal," she corrected acerbically, "And I hope it won't be too 'stupid,' considering that _I'm _organizing it. Besides," Arwen stumbled for an excuse, "It's months away."

Legolas inched closer. "Come on."

"I-- I already have a date." Well, it was almost true.

"Who, Aragorn?" Legolas gave a derisive laugh. "He's asked you?"

"Well, not yet," she said, trying to sound confident, "But I'm sure he will." She smiled half-heartedly, avoiding his eyes.

"Arwen," Legolas said, and whatever thoughts Arwen had entertained about leaving vanished at the tone of his voice; quiet, confidential--he seemed serious. "I think you should know…"

Worry filled her. "Know what?"

Now it was Legolas who was avoiding her eyes. "Just… never mind. You guys have got a great thing going, I wouldn't want to ruin that." He started to walk away.

"What should I know?" Arwen asked, grabbing his wrist. Her grey eyes met his blue ones, and she let go as though she'd been burned. Wiping her hands nervously on her jeans, she asked again, quietly, "What?… What should I know?"

Legolas looked resigned. "Just that… he doesn't care about you. He doesn't even really like you."

Arwen felt like she had been doused with icy water. "Wh-what?"

"It was a bet," he continued solemnly, "You. Him. It was all a stupid bet."

Arwen's heart sank. Her feet carried her back toward they science classroom, but her thoughts were far removed. And as she walked away, she didn't see Legolas' expression change. No longer sad. No longer serious.

He smirked.

--------------------

The rain poured down. Puddles formed on the soccer field, slick mud and grass, a fall waiting to happen. Faramir didn't mind the rain so much, but it made it almost impossible to see through his glasses. He made a solemn vow to invest in contacts.

They were scrimmaging. The game wore on and nobody was winning. 0 to 0. No one had even scored. Playing goalie, Faramir soon found himself facing the team's best forward. Faramir couldn't remember his name; it might have started with a D, he thought.

All thoughts of names were soon replaced by thoughts of impending death or pain or something, riding quickly toward him on D-boy's sure-footed feet.

Faramir hated playing goalie. His pseudo-manliness wouldn't let him admit it, but he was just a teensy bit afraid of getting whacked in the face by a soccer ball flying at the speed of light. He just hoped that the boy--Dernhelm, that was his name--didn't follow precedent and aim for Faramir, not the goal.

Hope wasn't enough. There was a horrible _smack_ that cause ever member of the Bandits to stare in awe as Faramir was knocked backwards by a soccer ball to the head, glasses flying off his face. With painful slowness, the ball inched across the white line and into the goal.

Everyone on the other team cheered; everyone except Dernhelm. His whispered "_Yes!"_ and his self-satisfied smile (that Faramir could barely see without his glasses) was so much worse than the cheers of the other team.

Faramir was surprised then, to see Dernhelm reach out a slender hand to help him up.

"Are you all right?" He asked, concern seeping into his voice.

"Yeah, I-- uh, I just can't find my glasses."

A smile spread across Dernhelm's blurry face, and strangely enough…

"Y'know, it's funny, but for a second there you looked like someone I know… This is gonna sound really stupid, but you looked like this girl in my homeroom class."

There was an awkward pause, as if Dernhelm didn't know quite what to say. Then: "Gee, thanks, I look like a _girl_. You really do need glasses."

"I didn't mean… Look, I'm-- never mind."

Dernhelm looked, if possible, even more awkward and then turned away. The whistle blew. Practice was over.

"I-- I have to go," he said, still with his back toward Faramir. "I'll see you at the game on Saturday." He walked away, head bowed against the torrential rain, leaving a confused Faramir to scramble for his glasses.

--------------------

The phone in Diamond's hand rang three times before she heard a voice on the other end.

"Hello?" Rosie answered. She sounded out of breath, and Diamond knew it was from the rather strenuous run down the stairs to get the phone.

"Hi Rosie, it's me."

On the opposite side of the bedroom, Estella grabbed the other handset off the bedside table and said, "You're home early."

"Yeah, Daisy and May gave me a ride because of the rain"

"How come--"

"Same here," Diamond cut in quickly, hoping that by plunging onward in the conversation, Estella would forget the small detail Rosie had just mentioned. "Fatty drove us home."

"Di, you're house's six blocks from here," Estella reminded her with an exasperated grin, "You're at _my_ house."

"You guys," Rosie said, the concern in her voice lessened by the fact that she was making one of those hopeless points that are always ignored, "You really shouldn't call Fredegar 'Fatty'."

"Hey, Pippin came up with it in 2nd grade, and my brother really doesn't care," Estella said, dismissing Rosie's complaint. Then, changing the subject with the speed of light: "How come Sam's family drove you home?" Diamond groaned inwardly, her hopes for a nice, Merry-free conversation completely dashed.

"It was raining and--"

"I thought you were going to hang out with Merry after school?" she asked accusatorily.

Diamond covered the mouthpiece of her phone. "Not again, Estee!" she said, trying to stop Estella before she got on a roll. Diamond hated it when her friends argued.

"Merry got detention again," Rosie murmured. Diamond sighed inwardly; Rosie had said exactly what Estella wanted to hear.

"Did he tell you that?"

Rosie didn't say anything.

"Oh, of course he didn't," Estella said, and Diamond could see the gleam of triumph in her eyes, "If you already knew he had detention, you would've called you parents for a ride _before _school got out, but you had to bum a ride off Sam's family. Which means he just neglected to tell you, _again._ I hope whatever he did to get detention was worth it."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Diamond knew what was next; the first of Rosie's excuses and Estella's attempts to prove that Merry was lower than pond scum in the grand scheme of things.

"He's just forgetful, you can't blame him for that."

"But he's done this before!"

"That was last _week_, and--"

"What about the fact that he's more likely to get all chivalry-happy for some other blonde girl that he doesn't even know, than take one second out of his miserable life to tell you not to wait for him!"

"Estee, that was at the beginning of the _year_…"

"He stole your string cheese that one time!" Estella said factually, as if this settled the debate.

"What?"

Diamond finally interjected. "Estee's only coming up with lame excuses because she doesn't even know _why_ she hates Merry… unless there's some secret reason she's not telling us…" There was an uncharacteristic silence in Estella's corner. Diamond didn't wait for a response. "I knew it!" she said emphatically, "He murdered you in a previous life!"

Estella's response to what must have been the 127th (and most ridiculous yet) of Diamond's 'Why Estee Hates Merry' theories was to fling a pillow at her head. Diamond just giggled.

"Seriously, Rosie," Estella asked, much more sincerely this time, "Why are you still going out with him?" Rosie didn't answer. "Well?"

The was a prolonged pause, during which a look of triumph spread over Estella's face, but then Rosie spoke up. "Look, I know he's not perfect, and he's sometimes kind of…"

"An ass?" Estella interrupted.

"Well, yes," Rosie continued, plunging onward, "But he's also nice, and funny, and chivalrous, and really likes me, and I really, _really, _want to try and make things work."

Estella didn't seem to have an answer for this. Eventually she fell back on her default, "That doesn't really excuse anything, y'know," but she said it with much less conviction than usual.

"Rosie," Diamond said quietly, "If you still like Merry and want to go out with him, I think the real question is, why aren't you happy?"

There was silence on the other end, and then Rosie spoke. "I _am_ happy, mostly. Anyway, I just… don't like when things are complicated and-- Maybe I make things more complicated than they actually are and-- I don't know, I'm talking like an idiot. What do you think?"

"I think there really _are _aliens with big elbows, not matter what Scully says to the contrary."

The absurdity of this statement sent all three girls into fits of giggles, and the conversation turned to school and Halloween costumes, and Diamond smiled, thinking that that might be the last Merry-related argument for a long time.

----------------------

Aragorn had planned the entire date out in his head. What time to pick Arwen up, where to take her; even what to say. He had tried so hard to make sure it would be perfect. Only a few minutes ago he was confident.

Now, standing on the doorstep of Arwen's impressive white house, at precisely 6:59 PM, he felt as though he would rather let himself become drenched by the drizzling rain than reach out and ring the doorbell. All his careful planning, his witticisms and complements, had emptied form his mind as soon as he had set foot on the porch, leaving him with only a deepening dread that he was going to do something wrong.

As if somehow aware of his arrival, the door swung open to reveal Arwen, who looked--if possible--more beautiful than ever. She was wearing a slender, shimmering dress in a shade of silver grey that matched her eyes perfectly. The flared skirt barely brushed her knees, leading up to a beribboned empire waist and a gathered top. Thin spaghetti straps accentuated her slim shoulders, and a star-shaped jewel rested on her delicate collarbone. A scarf of dark grey silk was draped over her arms.

Aragorn smiled at her, but she took one look at his jeans and tennis shoes and her face fell. "Oh, I _knew_ I'd overdressed!" she cried, looking distraught. She made as if to run back into the house, but Aragorn took her arm, gently turning her back around.

"You look beautiful!" he said with great sincerity, and then mentally hit himself. _I probably sound fake, _he thought,_ or obsessive, or freakishly enthusiastic, or…_

"Thanks!" she said, and she smiled brilliantly at him. It was then that he noticed a strange, sad look in her eyes, which was in direct contrast to her cheery demeanor. Aragorn was about to ask what was wrong, when she said quickly, (as if to head off any objections), "But I'm leaving the scarf. It's too dressy." She tossed the shiny length of fabric back into the house, where, judging by the subsequent outburst, it had landed on one of her brothers.

"I'm _Elladan!_" an exasperated male voice called pointedly, "_Not_ Elrohir! I don't wear this sh--" Arwen shut the door, effectively silencing him. "Are we leaving now?" she asked, and the emotion Aragorn had noticed in her eyes seemed to bleed into her voice momentarily. He had never been good at reading people, and this sudden change baffled him. Trying to shrug it off, he draped his jacket around Arwen's shoulders and they set off into the rain.

Aragorn had badgered Faramir incessantly about what kind of food Arwen liked, and after being assured and reassured that she did indeed like Thai food, he had chosen accordingly. Now, sitting in the dimly lit restaurant, with the smells of incense and curry drifting tantalizingly throughout the air, he watched as she ate her favorite dish with disinterest, seeming distracted and pensive. She had seemed unusually quiet on the drive there as well, forcing Aragorn to initiate conversations that she seemed indifferent to, although she participated with perfect cordiality.

Though he didn't know what, he knew something was wrong. With a horrible sinking feeling, he realized it was probably his fault. Something he had done had ruined the supposedly perfect date, and he was determined to fix it.

"Arwen?" he asked.

She look up from her Phad See Iew and said brightly "I'm fine."

Then, just as he realized that this meant that she was not at all fine, she put down her fork, took a deep breath and said, "Legolas told me that… well, it's probably not, like true or anything… and please don't be mad, but… are you really just going out with me because of a bet?" She said the last part extremely quickly, as if she simultaneously wanted to get it over with and not say it at all.

Aragorn was enough of a movie buff to know what scene he was in: this was the point where everything went to hell. Where Arwen, just like in that stupid movie where they give the geeky, artistic girl a makeover, would hate him forever for just one stupid mistake. Excuses ran rampant through his brain, but he couldn't say anything.

"Well?" asked Arwen, and Aragorn was finally able to put a name on that emotion: disappointment.

"I was really stupid," he started, "And I was gonna ask you out anyway, but then Legolas… well, I didn't wanna do it, but I couldn't back down, I mean, it was _Legolas. _But I really do like you, and I have since the first day of school, which seems kinda creepy now that I'm saying it, but you're not just a bet to me, and I'm really, really sorry." To Aragorn's critical ears, it sounded completely and unbelievably lame. But Arwen looked at him with a considering look on her face, and then said,

"I believe you."

Aragorn was lost. "You mean.. you don't hate me?"

Arwen laughed for the first time that evening, and all of Aragorn's doubts melted away at the sound.

The rest of the date was a happy blur. Everything returned to comfortable normalcy (as comfortable as first dates could be). All throughout the drive home, Arwen was chatty and animated, and the glow of contentment that seemed to surround her was contagious.

When they arrived at Arwen's house, Aragorn dashed around the car to open her door and help her out. Hand in hand, they walked along the path and up to the extravagant porch. Finally reaching the door, Aragorn turned to face her, and his blue eyes met her grey ones. Neither of them spoke, as if afraid that anything they said would mean the night was really over. Slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, Aragorn reached out a hand to rest beneath Arwen's chin, tilting her face towards his. Instinctively, she moved closer to him, and he could see every raindrop in her hair, resting on the dark waves like a cap of tiny stars. He was afraid to breathe, afraid to move.

And with a flood of light, the door opened to reveal an irate looking Elrond, who in an instant had whisked his daughter back inside, leaving a bewildered Aragorn to stand with his arm still outstretched, as sheets of endless rain fell down around him.

--------------------------

**A/N:** Again, we apologize for the total lack of updating. XD

**NEXT:** Tension, angst, and a coffee shop brawl. (Well, sort of).


	6. Coffee and Confrontations

**A/N:** At last, the angst.

**Disclaimer:** We, the sisters Elladan and Elrohir, don't own anything not ours.

**Chapter 6: Coffee and Confrontations **

**OR**

**In Which Pippin Does Not Appear At All**

October began gloomily, with a grey dawn and the promise of scattered showers. A sense of melancholy hung in the still, heavy air along with the damp smell of yesterday's rain, and grey clouds obscured all but a few patches of sky. It was the kind of day that would make anyone want to crawl right back into bed and sleep for a week. It was the kind of day that goes by with annoying slowness, even slower when you want it to be over. It was the kind of day that seemed almost expectant.

But at 2:26 on that first day of October, it seemed that it would take more that bad weather to ruin Arwen's good mood. School had just gotten out, she was going to get coffee with Eowyn, and--best of all--her brother had lent her his car. The only thing she could possibly complain about was the fact that the humidity had caused her hair to simultaneously loose most of its wave and become slightly frizzy, because of which she had uncharacteristically braided it into an Eowyn-ish plait. Other than that, her day was almost perfect.

Except, of course, for Legolas.

He stood near one of the picnic tables, with one arm slung haughtily about the shoulders of a very flattered looking girl. She looked dreamily up at him with her heavily eyelinered eyes, but Arwen got the distinct impression that Legolas wasn't at all interested in her. In fact, his eyes had been following Arwen from the moment she and Eowyng had walked out of the school.

Unlike Eowyn, who had been regaling Arwen with a story about some weird guy she met before Science class the previous day, Arwen had not told any of her friends about what Legolas had said. Part of her wished that the whole incident would go away, and that eventually he would go back to being his old petulant, immature self.

Legolas hadn't spoken to her since yesterday's attempt to both destroy her relationship happiness and ask her out, but he seemed to be watching her closely, as though intent on discovering the exact result of his bet. Arwen found this odd, considering that even the most oblivious people could see that she and Aragorn were on perfectly good terms. On the off chance that she caught Legolas watching her, he would flash her an unnervingly brilliant smile, completely unconcerned by the fact that she knew the truth about the bet and was--as far as he knew--furious with him.

Unfortunately, wishing didn't seem to be working. Legolas was still watching her when she and Eowyn got into the car, the same smile playing about his lips. Compared with his usual smirk, it was almost apologetic. Arwen peered through the wind shield at him, but whatever expression she thought she had seen vanished as he turned to mock another student.

Eowyn, who had been rattling off details about Weird Hallway Guy so that Arwen could find him in last year's yearbook ("Dark hair, my height-ish, creepy, hooded eyes, creepy, probably held back for a frillion years, creepy, whiter than sour cream…did I mention creepy?") stopped in the middle of her description.

"Is something wrong with you? You've been staring at Legolas like he's grown and extra head or something. Of course, that might be an improvement, but…" She grinned at Arwen.

"It's kind of a long story…" Arwen stalled, but after Eowyn's prompting look and the realizaton that listening to long stories is what best friends are for, she launched into an awkward explanation. "Well, he kinda, like, in a manner of speaking, sort of, maybe asked me out yesterday."

"Oh my god_, why_??" she managed breathlessly, with a look of disgust.

"It was because of this bet he made with Aragorn," Arwen began, and then proceeded to explain the bet, Legolas' proposition, parts of her date, and Legolas' weird behavior, as they drove off in search of coffee.

--

Eowyn had never been to the White Tree Café, but Faramir had told her enough about his family's coffee shop that she could honestly say it was exactly as she'd imagined. The room was small and mostly squarish, which wide, deep-set windows and walls painted a dusky, auburn brown. Three round wooden tables sat in the middle of the shop, each surrounded by wobbly wicker chairs sporting mismatched cushions. Against the back wall, a set of incredibly overstuffed chairs and an equally plush couch were arranged to create a sort of reading nook, no doubt a haven for the avid bookworm of the family. A slightly-tilted bookshelf, crammed with well-loved novels, was placed next to the couch. The entire right side of the shops was devoted to a long bar, laden with espresso machines, ceramic mugs, and the usual assortment of coffee shop appliances. The whole room smelled of cinnamon and coffee and old books. It was a comforting smell, warm and inviting.

Behind the counter, a willowy young woman stood with her back turned, washing the mismatched thrift store mugs. She had straight, dark hair, long enough to brush the waistband of her black jeans, though not long enough to make her a hippie or a fire hazard. The sign on the bar declared: _Today's barista is Lothiriel_.

"Afternoon, Lothi," Eowyn said coldly, but a hint of a smile threatened to overtake her.

Lothiriel turned around. Eowyn saw Arwen's eyes widen as they moved from Lothiriel's black nail polish to her skull necklace and nose piercing.

"Hey, kiddo," Lothiriel said, drying her hands on a dish towel.

"I didn't know you worked here," Eowyn said.

"Yeah, well," Lothiriel sighed, "It pays the bills. Sorta. I had to sell myself into prostitution to pay for the utilities."

"That gig suits you," smirked Eowyn.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, you can just wear that outfit you wore on you last date with my brother."

Both girls were grinning broadly now. "When I go out with your brother, I don't bring my whip."

Arwen made a choked noise. Eowyn and Lothiriel laughed, and said simultaneously, "We're just joking."

Arwen looked relieved.

"This is my brother's girlfriend, Lothiriel," said Eowyn, "Lothi, this is Arwen." Lothiriel reached out a ring-laden hand to shake Arwen's manicured one.

"Anyway," Eowyn said, changing the subject, "Can we get some coffee?"

"Not anymore," Lothiriel said bluntly, pulling on an oversized leather jacket, "You have to wait for the boys. My shift ended five minutes ago." She began to walk toward the door, boots clicking with every step. Without looking back, she called, "Give your brother my love."

"I'll tell him you think of him while you're waiting on the street corner."

"You're a doll," she said, and walked out of the coffee shop, long hair swinging in the light of the grey sky above her.

There was a long, awkward pause, before Arwen said, "She's…unique."

"Isn't she, though?" grinned Eowyn, "I really, _really_ wanted to hate her, seeing as she's part of the reason we moved here, but she was just too cool."

A companionable silence fell over the coffee shop as the two girls waited. Outside, the sky darkened, heavy with clouds.

--

With each step Boromir took down the squeaky stairs, he could hear the voice in the shop grow louder. Girls, two of them, their words muffled by the door at the end of the staircase. He sped up, his apron swinging limply in his hand as he tried not to slip on the worn carpeting. He had lost track of the time. His newest employee spent her shifts watching the clock and was a fierce believer in the evils of overtime: she was sure to have left the minute her shift was over. Faramir, seeing as he was walking home from school, would not be there for another five minutes or so. It was Boromir's fault, then, that the shop had been left unattended once again. Everything seemed to be his fault these days. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Boromir pushed the door open with his free hand.

For a second, it was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room, although it didn't stop the taller girl from prattling on about the titles shelved on the off-kilter bookshelf. Boromir stopped dead, eyes locked with Arwen. _What was she doing here?_ She stared at him, frozen, as though she had half-expected this to happen, but wasn't fully prepared for the actuality. Turning away sharply, Boromir stormed down the length of the counter, shoving the swinging door open with such excessive force that it smacked the wall, finally alerting the blonde girl that all was not right in the coffee shop. Begrudgingly, he pulled his apron over his head and tied the strings into such a tight knot that it was likely it would never come undone. His eyes, looking anywhere but at his expectant customers, fell on a cracked mug sitting by the sink--the one he always warned Faramir to be careful with because it was likely to break. He grabbed it, plunged it into the sink, and began washing it furiously. _She has no right to be here_, he thought, _not when her father feels it's his life's work to put us out of business…_ The water in the sink was uncomfortably lukewarm, and the mug was clean, but he kept scrubbing. Behind him, Arwen made a timid sort of coughing noise. He ignored her, staring at the tiled backsplash of the sink without really seeing it. The crack in the mug lengthened.

"Excuse me?" Her voice was cheerful and polite. Boromir slammed the mug down on the counter, the crack creeping a few more centimeters, and revolved slowly to face her. He felt rage rising in him. He did nothave enough self control to deal with _her_ right now, not with her barging in like she owned the place and then acting so cordial, like nothing was wrong. She had an equally fake smile on her face, but when she spoke her anxiety clearly showed.

"I'd like a grande-latte-double-shot-no-foam-half-milk-half-soy-one-sugar-please." She said is all in one breath, and her friend gave her a grin that clearly wondered what was wrong with just "coffee please".

"Excuse me?" Boromir threatened. Arwen's strained smile faded slightly and she looked as though she wished she had just ordered a cup of drip to go.

"Why don't you go across the street to get your pretentious drink? I know they'll give it to you for free."

"Hey!" her friend protested, moving defensively to Arwen's side, "I don't know who you think you are, but--"

Arwen silenced her with a look. "I'd just like my drink, please." She sounded more strained than ever, pleading, but Boromir had stopped listening.

"Get out of my shop," he said, teeth clenched together painfully.

"Boromir, please--" Arwen began desperately. A look of recognition dawned on the blonde's face, but Boromir only had eyes for the dark haired girl. She stood, trembling, as though facing the calm before the storm.

And then the storm broke.

"GET OUT OF MY SHOP!" Boromir roared, slamming his palms down on the counter. Arwen jumped slightly, her breath catching in her throat. She blinked rapidly, and her eyelashes were damp with the tears she refused to cry. In a tiny voice, she said, "I was only trying to help."

"You were trying to help?" he scoffed, his voice riddled with disgust. The idea was maddening. How could she walk in here, being who she was, knowing what she meant to him, representing everything Boromir had ever hated, and claim that she was only trying to help?

Arwen floundered for words. "You know… I su-suppose you need all the business you can get, and…and I was only trying to help."

"So we're a charity case now?"

"No, it's just…" she looked pleadingly across the counter at him, trapped. "I see you guys' shop, and I'd hate for you to go out of business. I'm really sorry…"

"So you pity us." Unconsciously, Boromir began moving around the counter.

"No, that's…"

Boromir pushed through the swinging door. "You think I need your pity?"

"That is not what I said!" she blurted out petulantly, and then bit her lip. She seemed so frail without the counter between them, like a porcelain doll. A petty, aggravating, porcelain doll.

Boromir took a step closer. Suddenly, as if he had crossed an invisible line, the blonde girl moved forward. There was an icy look in her eyes; angry and cold.

"Back. Off."

"Eowyn, no…" Arwen said, putting a placating hand on the taller girl's shoulder. The girl--Eowyn--spun to face her, long braid swinging.

"Don't 'no' me! I won't stand idly by while Big Brother here plays effed-up mind games with you!"

But Boromir could tell that Arwen wasn't listening. She was gazing right past Eowyn, looking straight at him. Carefully, she moved forward, around Eowyn. The look in her eyes made Boromir seethe with anger, rage rising again. Her expression was impossible to read, but there was one thing Boromir could tell for certain; in al the conflicting emotions she showed, hate was nowhere to be found.

Boromir turned away. He had forgotten the color of her eyes; grey, like slate or thunderclouds. Why didn't she hate him? Everyone else did. He had given her every reason to , and yet here she stood, staring at him with that infuriating expression. He wished she would hate him; it would make everything simpler. Hate was black and white. Dammit, why couldn't she hate him? Why did she have to look at him like that, like the high school boy he had once been was still there?

When she spoke, she spoke cautiously. "What happened to you?"

Bitter anger coursed through him. "I grew up."

"You didn't have to become so mean."

Boromir spun around to face her. She was so patronizing, so condescending, so utterly wrong.

"I didn't have to?" he growled, voice rising with each syllable. He had to explain, had to make her understand; had to make her hate him. "Of course I had to. My mother _died_, Arwen, and my dad was so drunk he couldn't form a coherent thought. Do want to know who had to arrange for the funeral? Who had to tell Faramir that his mother was dead? I was me. I was sixteen. I had to make the decisions that no one wanted to make. I had to get mean. I had to run a family when all I wanted was for one to take care of me.

"But I guess you wouldn't understand, would you? Because you've had everything you've ever wanted. And you'll never have to grow up. You'll spend the rest of your life exactly how you are: a shallow, petty, pampered little bitch."

The air crackled with electricity in the deafening silence. Arwen's soft grey eyes welled with tears. She took one, shuddering breath, and sobbed into her hands

--

With a gentle push, Faramir opened the door to the White Tree Café, eager to escape the looming rain clouds. He began to call a greeting to Boromir, who he knew would be waiting behind the counter, but all thoughts of congeniality left his head the minute the scene in the coffee shop met his eyes. He simply stared with his mouth slightly open, the silence broken only by the tinkling of the bell above the door and the muffled sounds of Arwen trying valiantly to stem the flow of tears that coursed down her cheeks. Faramir, in all his years of being friends with Arwen, had only ever seen her cry once: in 5th grade, when one of their classmates had pulled her pigtail and told her that no guy would ever go out with a girl who could beat him at Scrabble. Even then, it was nothing like this. Boromir stood facing her, his expression incalculable, and Eowyn…

Eowyn stood behind Arwen, one hand on her friend's shoulder, utterly still. Faramir looked at her, and thought he saw a glimmer of something fair and cold, slender and strong as a blade. Her eyes glinted like steel. For a second was struck by an irrational fear that one day, the Eowyn he knew would simply disappear, and only this beautiful and terrible woman would be left.

Then, as one, all three occupants of the café turned to look at him. The door behind him clicked softly shut, but to Faramir, it seemed to echo throughout the shop. No one spoke. Tears were still spilling from Arwen's gray eyes, but Boromir's were filled with emotions that Faramir couldn't place. _Anger? Or was that a hint of regret? _

He found his voice. "Is everything all right?" he asked softly, and then instantly regretted having spoken at all. _Of course nothing was "all right." What a stupid, idiotic question to ask. _

"That's a stupid, idiotic question! Of course everything isn't _all right,_" Eowyn fumed, moving over to him, and he was relieved to see that whatever terrible coldness he had imagined had been replaced by her usual fire. "Your--" she muttered a string of impressive curses under her breath, a few in foreign languages, "--_brother_ was being a--" she continued her curses. Faramir suspected she had learned the French ones from Arwen, who was currently studying the language.

Boromir pushed past Arwen, who jumped away from him as if she had been burned. "What did you call me?" he demanded of Eowyn. She didn't flinch.

"You heard me."

"This is none of your business."

"Excuse me? Arwen is the sweetest, kindest, most loving girl I know-- my best friend in the whole damn world--and you just made her _cry_. So you better believe it's my _business._" Arwen looked at her, gratitude written across her face.

"She," Boromir accused, pointing a finger at Arwen, "tried to put us out of business."  
"Her _father_ tried."

"They're all the same."

"So, they were your competition. Big deal."

"Big deal?"

"Yeah, big deal. It's not personal."

Faramir's eyes flicked back and forth between Eowyn and Boromir, as their voices rose with each word. Inside, he was at war with himself, his loyalties pulling him in opposite directions. He knew Boromir would interpret any attempt to play the peacemaker as siding with Eowyn, and Eowyn would never forgive him for siding against Arwen. Every moment he spent thinking, the voices became louder, angrier; insults and retorts shouted back and forth like a tennis match where the ball was lit on fire. Boromir was dangerously close to Eowyn now, and Faramir knew he couldn't continue to do nothing.

He took a step forward, so he was between his brother and his friend. "She's right, you know," he began quietly, "It was just business."

Boromir was livid. "Just _business?_ We needed every last bit of revenue we could get, and they were trying to take it all away."

"There's know way they could have known," Faramir said, placating.

"She was _dying,_ Faramir."

"It's not Arwen's fault that--"

Boromir cut him off. "Not her fault? Who's side are you on?"

Ignoring his brother, Faramir continued, his voice tinged with sadness. "Even if we had every customer Starbucks had, it wouldn't have made a difference. She still would have--"

Faramir never even saw his brother's fist move. The next second he was lying on the floor, blood streaming from his nose, and Boromir had stormed out of the café, slamming the door behind him.

He didn't remember much after that. The rest of the afternoon was kind of hazy, tinged with pain, regret, despair, and bloodloss. There may have been painkillers at some point. He remembered Arwen standing still, shocked, before rushing to the refrigerator for ice. And he remembered Eowyn pulling him to his feet, hiding her concern by making inopportune jokes. "It's only a fleshwound," she quipped, but her eyes were worried.

Faramir wasn't paying attention to the girls, or the shop, or his broken nose. He simply watched the door where Boromir had disappeared, as the rain finally poured down.

--

**NEXT UP: **The past is contemplated and the future is chosen.


End file.
